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COMEDIANS  ALL 


BOOKS  BY  GEORGE  JEAN  NATHAN 
ANOTHER  BOOK  ON  THE  THEATRE 

MR.    GEORGE    JEAN    NATHAN    PRE- 
SENTS 

EUROPE  AFTER  8:15    (in  collaboration 
with  H.  L.  Mencken) 

BOTTOMS  UP 

A  BOOK  WITHOUT  A  TITLE 

THE  POPULAR  THEATRE 

COMEDIANS  ALL 

COMEDIANS  ALL 

GEORGE  JEAN  NATHAN 


New  York   ALFRED  •  A  •  KNOPF    Mcmxix 


COPYRIGHT,  1919,  BY 
ALFRED  A.  KNOPF,  Inc. 


PRINTED   IN    THI   UNIT8D    8TATXS   OW  AMBBIOA 


College 

Library  • 


A  BOOK  OF 
CONTRADICTORY  CRITICISM 


CONTENTS  { 

Criticism  11  \ 

The  Dramatic  Critic  11 

Destructive  Criticism  13  ,       ■  i 

The  New  Scenery  28  ,  1 

The  Matter  of  Adaptation  29  . 

Skating  on  Thin  Ice  36  j 

The  Actor-Manager  38  \ 

On  Observation  39  j 

Maeterlinck  as  Dramatist  40 

Intelligence  and  the  Actor  52  \ 

The  One-Act  Play  54 

The  Japanese  Play  55 

The  Biblical  Play  57 

The  Foremost  American  Producer  58 

On  Sentimentality  68  ' 

The  Biographical  Play  69  ' 

The  Repertory  System  69  ; 

Belasco  70  ■ 

On  Banality  72 

The  Modern  French  Drama  73  i 

Harry  Watson,  Jr.  76  j 

Brander  Matthews  78  : 

The  American  Dramatic  Criticism  85 

Drama  94 

Roof  Shows  94 


CONTENTS 

Avery  Hopwood  106 

The  Potboilermakers  111 

The  Drama  of  Ideas  116 

Hokum  118 

The  Star  System  119 

The  American  Negro  133 

The  Shaw  Imitation  134 

On  Drama  and  Acting  135 

Subterfuge  135 

War,  Peace  and  the  Drama  136 

The  Critical  Stricture  137 

The  Actor  Play  142 

The  Drama  of  Augustus  Thomas  143 

Sentiment  and  Avoirdupois  144 

The  Reugious  Play  145 

La  Vok  d'Or  147 

Plays  of  Caste  148 

The  Protean  Play  149 

On  Aesthetic  Dancing  150 

W.  Somerset  Maugham  151 

The  Risque  Britisher  154 

Vaudeville  155 

Two  Celebrated  American  Character  Actors  155 

The  Journalistic  Hazlittry  157 

True  Sentiment  and  False  162 

Personality  and  the  Actor  163 

Double  Entente  167 

J.  M.  Barrie  169 

Episode  in  the  Career  of  a  Critic  of  the  Drama  169 

Haddon  Chambers  174 

The  Palais  Royal  Naturalized  176 


CONTENTS 

Satire  177 

The  American  Sentimentauty  178 

The  Artificial  Play  178 

The  End  of  a  Perfect  Dane  178 

Amour  in  the  Theatre  188 

The  Broadway  "Literary"  Playwright  189 

Eugene  Walter  190 

The  Well-Mannered  Play  192 

On  Beauty  192 

ToujouRS  Perdrix  195 

The  Chewing  Gum  Drama  196 

J.  Hartley  Manners  198 

The  Comic  Motion  Picture  199 

Art  Vu  the  Side^treet  202 

The  Censor  202 

On  Critical  Prejudice  203 

The  Commercial  Theatre  204 

Edward  Sheldon  207 

Mixed  Identity  209 

Unfrocking  the  Pretender  209 

The  Professor  210 

Laughter  and  the  Onion  211 

The  Broadway  Curtain  Speech  211 

The  Realistic  Drama  215 

Account  of  a  Sample  Masterpiece  Born  of  the  Great 

War  215 
The  Belasco  Technic  217 
The  Commercul  Public  218 
On  Nomenclature  219 
Opera  Comique  224 
Dramatic  Paradox  226 


CONTENTS 
The  French  and  American  Taste  226 
Temperature  and  the  Drama  229 
The  Marionette  233 
The  National  Humour  236 
The  Crook  Play  249 
The  Theatrical  Wise  Men  251 
Wilijam  Winter  254 
Sex  Appeal  256 
The  Pigeon-Hole  Play  258 
The  Actor  and  the  Trained  Seal  258 
The  Middle-Class  Taste  261 


*'There  is  always  a  place  for  protests  against  the 
main  convention,  for  rebellion,  paradox,  partisan- 
ship and  individuality,  and  for  every  personal  taste 
that  is  sincere.  Progress  comes  by  contradiction. 
Eddies  and  tossing  spray  add  to  the  beauty  of  every 
stream  and  keep  the  water  from  stagnancy." — 
Gilbert  Murray. 


§  1 

Criticism. — Criticism  is  the  art  of  appraising 
that  which  isn't  in  terms  of  what  it  should  be,  and 
that  which  should  be  in  terms  of  what  it  isn't. 
The  rest — is  mere  hand-shaking. 


§2 

The  Dramatic  Critic. — The  notion  that  a  dra- 
matic critic  may  most  easily  attract  attention  to 
himself  and  cut  his  way  to  celebrity  by  expressing 
opinions  directly  the  opposite  of  those  held  by  the 
overwhelming  majority  is  ridiculous.  The  reverse, 
indeed,  is  true.  The  late  William  Winter  was  in 
his  lifetime,  and  remains  after  his  death,  the  most 
conspicuous  figure  in  American  dramatic  criticism ; 
and  he  never  once  in  all  his  career  said  or  wrote 
one  single  thing  about  the  theatre  that  nine  hundred 
and  ninety-nine  out  of  every  one  thousand  Ameri- 
cans did  not  themselves  stoutly  believe.  The 
theory  that  Shaw  achieved  notoriety  as  a  critic  by 
standing  counter  to  the  general  is  the  theory  of 

those  alone  who  either  have  never  read  his  criti- 

11 


12  COMEDIANS   ALL 

cisms,  or  have  read  them  carelessly.  In  his  entire 
critical  incumbency,  Shaw  never  expressed  an  opin- 
ion that  was  not  fully  concurred  in  by  the  great 
majority  of  his  public.  The  only  difference  be- 
tween Winter  and  Shaw — the  only  essential  differ- 
ence, that  is — is  that  Winter  became  famous  by  ex- 
pressing the  mob  opinion  in  terms  of  the  mob,  and 
that  Shaw  became  famous  by  expressing  the  mob 
opinion  in  terms  of  the  few.  But,  at  bottom,  the 
opinions  of  both  were  and  are  the  opinions  of  the 
multitude. 

If  Winter  was  absurdly  full  of  such  adjectives 
as  "detestable"  and  "indecent"  when  a  Pinero  sex 
play  crossed  his  eye,  so  was  Shaw — as  you  may  find 
for  yourself  by  turning,  for  example,  to  his 
"Dramatic  Opinions  and  Essays,"  Vol.  I,  page  44. 
If  Winter  was  enchanted  by  mere  empty  mob  mush, 
so  too  was  Shaw — as  you  may  find  for  yourself 
by  turning,  for  example,  to  his  Vol.  I,  page  70. 
And  if  Winter  believed  that  morals  were  a  part  of 
art,  so  also  did  Shaw — as  you  may  find  for  yourself 
by  turning,  for  example,  to  his  Vol.  II,  page  449. 
The  technique  and  aesthetic  of  Winter,  in  the  expo- 
sition of  these  typical  mob  attitudes,  were  the  tech- 
nique and  aesthetic  of  Dr.  Parkhurst;  the  tech- 
nique and  aesthetic  of  Shaw,  in  the  exposition  of 
what  were  intrinsically  the  same  mob  attitudes, 


DESTRUCTIVE    CRITICISM       13 

were  the  technique  and  aesthetic  of  Gaby  Deslys. 
But,  sharp  showmen  both,  their  materials,  however 
diametrically  opposed  the  manner  of  their  mer- 
chanting,  were  fundamentally  the  same,  and  funda- 
mentally of  like  mob  echo  quality. 

In  short,  the  surest  way  for  a  dramatic  critic  to 
remain  in  oblivion  is  to  do  exactly  that  which  the 
theorists  prescribe  to  the  contrary,  viz.,  contradict 
the  opinions  of  the  majority.  Some  excellent 
critics,  fellows  of  sound  sense  and  searching 
theatrical  philosophy,  have  died  thus  the  death  of 
public  inattention.  Who  of  you,  for  example,  has 
ever  heard  of  Dr.  Louis  Allard,  sometime  of  Har- 
vard College,  of  E.  Fordham-Spence  of  The  West- 
minster Gazette,  of  Judge  Parry  and  his  "Judg- 
ments in  Vacation,"  of  acute  Theodore  Lessing, 
of  C.  E.  Vaughan,  Gustav  Rickelt,  Maximilian 
Harden  as  Ibsen  critic,  Joscha  Savitz,  or  D.  E. 
Oliver? 

§3 

Destructive  Criticism. — Of  the  numerous  and 
fecund  fallacies  concerned  with  criticism,  doubtless 
the  most  unremittingly  enceinte  is  that  which  holds 
it  a  vastly  more  easy  business  to  blame  than  to 
praise.     "Any  fool  can  find  fault"  has  been  the 


14  COMEDIANS   ALL 

cornerstone  of  protestant  retaliation  to  so-called 
destructive  criticism  for  something  over  two  cen- 
turies. Upon  it  have  been  reared  the  most  sar- 
donic animadversions  of  the  Balzacs,  Landors, 
Coleridges,  Shelleys,  Addisons,  Lambs,  Drydens 
and  Disraelis,  the  very  acuteness  and  hence  lon- 
gevity of  whose  destructive  criticism  of  destructive 
criticism  might  possibly  suggest  to  the  more  wag- 
gish logician  that  the  exceptionally  gifted  dispara- 
gers in  point — by  proving  both  what  they  set  out  to 
prove  and,  automatically,  the  reverse — swung  the 
punitive  cowhide  so  far  around  their  heads  that  it 
nipped  their  own  ears. 

That  any  fool  can  find  fault  is,  of  course,  per- 
fectly true.  But  that  any  fool  can  find  fault  ac- 
curately, soundly  and  searchingly  is  a  horse  of  an- 
other colour.  So  to  find  fault  calls  upon  and  com- 
mands a  decidedly  uncommon  talent.  And  so, 
above  this,  to  find  fault  with  such  a  fault  finder 
calls  upon  and  commands — as  the  history  of  de- 
structive criticism  emphatically  proves — a  down- 
right genius.  Any  picturesque  but  empty  dodo 
like  the  late  Nat  Goodwin  can  toss  off  a  four- 
pound  five-dollar  book  finding  fault  with  every- 
thing from  the  criticism  of  Dr.  Johnson  to  Edna 
Goodrich's  mother,  but  it  takes  the  talent  of  a  Wil- 
liam Archer  to  find  searching  fault  even  with  a 


DESTRUCTIVE   CRITICISM       15 

single  one  of  Brunetiere's  dramatic  theories,  and 
the  genius  of  a  Bernard  Shaw  to  find  sound  fault 
with  what  seemed  to  be  the  searching  fault  which 
William  Archer  found. 

The  extraordinarily  capric  quality  of  the  mass  of 
journalistic  criticism  in  America  is  due,  not  as  is 
generally  maintained,  to  the  desire  of  its  writers  to 
please  by  indiscriminate  praise,  but  to  the  utter  in- 
capacity on  the  part  of  these  writers  to  dispraise. 
In  the  theatrical  criticism  that  appears  in  the  native 
morning  newspapers,  the  omnipresent  note  of 
eulogy  is  attributable  less  to  the  commentator's  wish 
to  eulogize  than  to  the  recognized  fact  that,  given 
less  than  an  hour  in  which  to  confect  an  estimate  of 
a  play,  gush  is  immensely  more  simple  of  negotia- 
tion than  diatribe.  Every  critical  writer  knows 
well  the  truth  of  this.  When  he  is  lazy,  he  writes 
praise;  only  when  his  mind  is  alert  and  eager  does 
he  feel  himself  capable  of  fault  finding.  The  art 
of  the  careful,  honest  and  demolishing  coup  de 
grace  is  an  art  calling,  firstly,  for  an  exhaustive 
knowledge  of  the  subject  under  the  microscope, 
secondly,  for  an  original  and  sharply  inventive 
analytical  turn  of  mind,  and  thirdly,  for  a  wit  and 
power  over  words  that  shall  make  them  whiz 
through  the  printed  page.  The  art  of  the  equally 
careful  and  honest  hip-hooray,  even  at  its  highest, 


16  COMEDIANS   ALL 

on  the  other  hand  calls  upon  at  least  the  first  two 
of  these  attributes  in  considerably  less  degree. 

That  the  art  of  penetrating  fault  finding — or 
"destructive  criticism,"  as  the  jay  misnomer  has 
it — is  a  grant  denied  the  considerable  majority  of 
our  journalistic  luminaries  may  be  clearly  dis- 
cerned not  only  in  the  lavish  bravos  and  vivas  al- 
ready mentioned  as  constituting  the  bulk  of  the 
daily  reviews,  but — better  still — in  the  retrospec- 
tive and  more  carefully  pondered  weekly  reviews  of 
reviews  published  in  the  Sunday  editions.  In  these 
latter  reviews  one  regularly  observes  a  brave  effort 
at  qualification  of  the  morning-after  doxologies 
and  joss-burnings,  a  sincere  and  upright  attempt 
to  expose  holes.  But  what  the  sum?  Generally 
little  more  than  a  faint  barking  of  amiable  dachs- 
hunds suddenly  disguised  as  ferocious  bloodhounds 
— with  Eliza  already  twenty  miles  away.  The  no- 
tion that  this  daily  journalistic  criticism  is  dis- 
honest— a  theory  cherished  by  most  playwrights 
who  compose  dramas  in  which  the  heroine,  when 
the  detective's  back  is  turned,  cleverly  substitutes 
a  railroad  time-table  for  the  warrant  for  her  lover's 
arrest,  and  by  most  actors  whose  eyes  have  been 
alleged  by  the  critic  for  the  Mercure  de  Hoboken 
to  be  not  quite  so  dreamy  as  Chauncey  Olcott's, 
or  Louis   Mann's — this   notion    is    absurd.     The 


DESTRUCTIVE   CRITICISM       17 

American  journalistic  criticism,  whether  morning 
or  evening,  is,  save  in  a  few  notorious  instances, 
not  dishonest;  it  is,  save  in  a  few  equally  notorious 
instances,  merely  disqualified.  It  is  disqualified 
because  it  honestly  essays,  when  the  occasion  hon- 
estly presents  itself,  to  write  razor-keen  destructive 
criticism  and  finds  itself,  because  of  the  supreme 
difficulty  of  the  job  and  its  own  dialectical  short- 
comings, sorely  confounded.  Its  toe,  eager,  well- 
aimed  and  valiant,  is  poised  trembling  abaft  the 
breeches,  yet  condemned  by  inhibitory  tendons  to 
lift  gingerly  and  rest  content  merely  to  flick  a  bit 
of  lint  off  the  coat-tail. 

Consider,  for  example,  such  a  paper  as  the  pres- 
ent New  York  Globe.  The  perspirations  of  this 
gazette  to  compose  incisive  destructive  criticism 
when  the  occasion  demands  are  typical  of  the  per- 
spirations of  at  least  three  quarters  of  our  Ameri- 
can newspapers.  And  the  result  of  these  perspira- 
tions is  destructive  criticism  that  may  be  described 
as  being  approximately  as  destructive  as  the  erup- 
tion of  a  Kiralfy  card-board  volcano.  Even  simple 
fault  finding,  fault  finding  that  more  or  less  ac- 
curately finds  the  fault,  evades  such  journalistic 
enterprise.  In  concrete  instance  whereof,  take 
some  such  review  as  this,  culled  from  the  columns 
of  the  journal  named : 


18  COMEDIANS   ALL 

"  *A  Sleepless  Night'  is  a  farce  comedy  of  the  familiar 
Long  Island  bedroom  type,  but  it  achieves  something 
farce  is  not  supposed  to  achieve.  Jack  Larric  and 
Gustav  Blum,  who  are  responsible  for  the  night  of  in- 
somnia, have  managed  to  write  much  that  is  satirical 
into  their  farce  comedy,  and  that  is  inimical  to  the 
piece.  Folks  that  go  to  see  farces  don't  want  to  giggle; 
they  want  to  laugh  out  loud,  and  blush."    Etc.,  etc. 

Here,  indubitably,  was  a  perfectly  honest  at- 
tempt to  write  honest  destructive  criticism  that  was 
honestly  merited.  But  observe  the  result.  The 
exhibit  in  point  failed  to  provoke  laughter  and, 
since  laughter  is  the  chief  end  necessarily  sought 
by  such  an  exhibit,  failed  of  effect.  The  com- 
mentator appreciated  this  typically  and  accurately 
enough,  yet  when  he  tried  to  get  at  the  reason  for 
the  failure — when  he  essayed  even  the  simple  busi- 
ness of  getting  whatever  thoughts  he  had  about 
the  case  onto  paper — he  became  as  one  utterly 
bewildered  and  began  metaphorically  to  chase  him- 
self 'round  in  circles.  Thus,  while  in  his  very  first 
sentence  he  says  that  the  piece  is  a  farce  comedy, 
he  finds  fault  with  the  farce  comedy  because  the 
farce  comedy  achieves  something  that  farce  is  not 
supposed  to  achieve.  Which,  obviously,  is  not 
far  removed  from  criticizing  "A  Wife  Without 
a    Smile"    because    it    achieves    something    that 


DESTRUCTIVE    CRITICISM       19 

"Charley's  Aunt"  is  not  supposed  to  achieve. 
Granting  even  that  the  Olympiodorus  in  point  had 
not  here  become  somewhat  twisted,  what  is  the 
"something"  which  one  observes  him  astutely  fig- 
uring out  as  being  inimical  and  alien  to  farce? 
One  observes  him  astutely  figuring  that  satire  is 
inimical  and  alien  to  farce,  thus  sagaciously  prov- 
ing to  the  doubtless  vastly  embarrassed  Shaw  that 
his  "Androcles"  is  a  gloomy  and  ill-advised  hybrid, 
and  that  such  Continental  satirical  farces  as  "The 
Fat  Caesar,"  "Donatello"  and  the  like  are  mournful 
affairs. 

The  fault  finding  which  the  gentleman  now  and 
eventually  negotiates,  to  wit,  that  the  particular 
farce  with  which  he  is  concerned  was  not  laughable 
because  while  satire  may  make  "folks"  giggle,  it 
cannot  make  these  "folks"  laugh  or  blush,  shows 
even  more  clearly  the  blind  and  vain  critical  grop- 
ing for  the  play's  actual  fault.  That  satire  can- 
not make  persons  laugh  aloud  (as,  for  example, 
in  the  demonstrated  case,  among  a  hundred  or 
more  others,  of  de  Caillavet's  and  de  Flers'  "The 
King")  or  blush  (as,  for  example,  in  the  mayhap 
demonstrated  case,  among  a  hundred  or  more 
others,  of  the  unexpurgated  satirical  farce  on  the 
French  petty  bureaucrat,  "La  Presidente")  is  in- 
deed by  way  of  being  high  news. 


20  COMEDIANS   ALL 

Is  it  any  wonder,  therefore,  that  appreciating 
the  difficulty  of  achieving  anything  approaching 
destructive  criticism,  or  even  remotely  sound  fault 
finding,  the  majority  of  newspapers  very  frankly 
heave  a  sigh,  throw  up  the  sponge  and  cover  their 
confusion  by  the  simple  expedient  of  shooting  off 
very  easily  contrived  volleys  of  Pollyanna  oil?  To 
be  fair  to  the  Globe  reviewer,  one  must  at  least 
praise  him  for  his  effort  to  do  the  right  thing,  for 
his  hard  sweating  to  get  at  the  faults  of  the  play 
he  was  engaged  to  appraise,  for  his  attempt,  how- 
ever ill-fated,  to  brew  an  appropriately  destruc- 
tive criticism.  But  for  one  Dred  Scott  who  suc- 
ceeds even  in  getting  so  far  with  destructive  criti- 
cism as  this  Globe  Dred  Scott  has  more  or  less 
brilliantly  succeeded,  one  finds  a  multitude  of 
Evening  Telegram  cupids  who  correctly  appreciate 
the  labyrinthine  embarrassments  of  the  job  and 
genially  pass  them  up  with  such  facile  constructive 
slow  music  as 

"Mr.  Glendinning's  attempts  to  extricate  himself  from 
his  sad  predicament,  into  which  he  fell  guiltlessly,  thus 
seeming  to  bear  out  the  contention  that  it  is  only  the 
innocent  who  get  caught,  were  screamingly  funny,  as 
explanations  usually  are  to  unfeeling  auditors.  It  could 
not  be  otherwise.  Any  youth  put  under  the  necessity 
of  clearing  up  the  mystery  and  doubt  aroused  by  the 


DESTRUCTIVE   CRITICISM      21 

discovery  of  one  pink-pa jamed  beauty  under  the  bed- 
clothes in  his  apartment,  would  be  funny  just  because  of 
the  foolishness  of  the  idea  that  it  could  be  done.  But 
two!  Oh  yes,  the  other  one  wasn't  in  pajamas.  No, 
she  sort  of  wrapped  herself  in  a  flowered  kimono  and 
looked  self-conscious.  As  one  of  the  other  characters 
delivered  the  line,  'two  was  much  too  much.' 

"  'A  Sleepless  Night'  was  written  by  Jack  Larric  and 
Gustav  Blum.  The  dialogue  is  clever  and  there  are 
times  when  it  approaches  the  brilliant.  There  is  a 
rapid-fire  effect  to  it  that  helps  in  holding  interest  and 
bridges  the  gaps  where  the  action  lags  a  little.  It  also 
possesses  the  virtue  of  not  appearing  to  have  been  written 
merely  for  the  effect  of  being  smart.  The  spoken  words 
are  all  germane  to  the  story.  The  play  is  ideally  cast. 
The  various  actors  did  their  roles  to  perfection.  The 
production  was  staged  under  the  capable  direction  of 
Oscar  Eagle." 

These  assiduously  sweet  fellows  who  look  in- 
variably upon  the  theatre  as  a  June  bride  looks 
at  a  lily-bud  are,  however,  comparatively  not  al- 
ways so  droll  as  they  would  seem.  After  all,  the 
species  of  reviewing  which  they  espouse  is  not 
a  whit  less  trumpery  than  that  practised  by  the 
equally  assiduous  journalistic  Eumenides  who 
would  seem  to  look  not  infrequently  upon  the 
theatre  (save  when  it  concerns  itself  with  the  works 
of  Percy  Mackaye  and  other  representatives  of  the 


22  COMEDIANS   ALL 

eighteenth  century)  as  a  ravenous  bus  boy  looks 
upon  the  free  lunch.  The  mock  destructive  criti- 
cism of  this  latter  school  is  fully  as  jocund  as 
the  mock  constructive  criticism  of  the  former.  As 
an  example,  take  on  this  particular  occasion  a 
single  slice  from  the  critical  opus  in  the  Evening 
Post  anent  the  same  farce,  "A  Sleepless  Night." 
After  a  very  fierce  and  savage  preliminary  charge 
upon  the  absurdly  trivial  little  dingus  with  tanks, 
ten-ton  pile  drivers,  iron  shillelahs,  large-bore  can- 
non, dum-dum  spears,  howitzers  and  assafcetida 
bombs,  this  mortal  pot-shot: 

"The  story  which  it  endeavors  to  tell  is  too  silly  and 
preposterous  to  come  within  even  the  elastic  limits  of 
farce." 

This,  the  Post  Garcilasso  Vega's  carefully  calcu- 
lated climacteric  fetch.  But  the  story,  alas,  hap- 
pens to  be  fundamentally  much  the  same  story  as 
that  of  Mr.  William  Hurlbut's  comedy,  "Saturday 
to  Monday,"  which,  upon  its  presentation  by  Win- 
throp  Ames  in  this  very  theatre  the  season  before, 
was — unless  I  am  very  greatly  in  error — highly 
praised  as  interesting  and  reasonable  by  this  same 
forgetful  commentator. 

But  to  argue  in  defense  and  explanation  of  de- 
structive criticism  as  a  high  form  of  art  that  its 


DESTRUCTIVE  CRITICISM  23 
absence  from  the  columns  of  our  newspapers  is 
often  chiefly  predicated  on  want  of  leisure  wherein 
carefully  to  weigh,  ponder  and  reflect,  and  wherein 
to  interpret  the  findings  pointedly  and  with  skill 
and  cunning,  is  plainly  as  droll  as  arguing  that 
genius  is  merely  a  capacity  for  taking  infinite  time. 
The  question  is  not  one  of  lacking  leisure,  but  one 
of  lacking  expertness.  Turning  from  the  news- 
papers to  the  American  periodicals  and  books  of 
dramatic  criticism — all  granted  time  and  to  spare 
for  studious  reflection — one  encounters,  with  very 
few  exceptions,  a  similar  disability  in  the  art  of 
sound  fault  finding.  Apparently  appreciating,  as 
the  newspaper  commentators  appreciate,  that  sharp 
destructive  criticism  is  a  rooster  too  difficult  of 
winging,  our  critics  of  the  drama  for  the  more 
leisurely  brochures  take  no  chances,  but  sedulously 
devote  themselves  to  an  attempted  concealment  of 
their  shortcomings  in  enthusiastic  articles  on  such 
impressive  and  safe  yokel-magnets  as  community 
theatres,  Maeterlinck,  the  esprit  of  Yvette  Guilbert, 
and  the  value  of  repertory  companies.  That  these 
enthusiasms  are  often  grounded  infinitely  less  upon 
calm  observation  and  sound  deduction  than  upon 
an  unacquaintance  with  the  topic  in  hand  so  great 
that  it  makes  fault  finding — or  so-called  destruc- 
tive criticism — out  of  the  question,  is  fairly  ob- 


24  COMEDIANS   ALL 

vious  to  any  one  who  casts  an  eye  at  these  bland 
uplift  professors  and  their  essays.  Take,  for  ex- 
ample, Mr.  Clayton  Hamilton,  critic  to  Vogue. 
And  take,  for  example,  his  recent  amorous  critique 
of  Henri  Lavedan,  a  few  illuminating  passages 
from  which  I  herewith  make  bold  to  quote: 

**Throughout  the  last  three  decades,  Henri  Lavedan 
of  the  French  Academy  has  been  recognized  as  one 
of  the  foremost  representatives  of  contemporary  French 
dramatic  authorship;  and,  though  his  work  is  intimately 
national,  he  has  enjoyed  a  quite  unusual  success  in  the 
commercial  theatre  of  this  country.  The  first  of  his 
plays  to  be  presented  in  America  was  'Catherine,'  which 
was  produced  by  Annie  Russell  in  1898.  Otis  Skinner 
produced  'The  Duel'  in  1906,  and  'Sire'  in  1911.  In 
1918,  Mrs.  Fiske  presented  'Service';  and  the  latest  item 
on  the  list,  'The  Marquis  de  Priola,'  has  recently  been 
added  by  Leo  Ditrichstein.  Of  these  five  plays,  three 
have  run  for  not  less  than  an  entire  season  in  this  coun- 
try, and  the  others  have  been  played  for  many  weeks. 
What  is  the  reason  for  this  remarkable  success  of  M. 
Lavedan  with  a  theatre-going  public  that  rejects  so 
many  European  dramatists  of  even  larger  reputation 
on  the  ground  that  they  are  'foreign,'  and  therefore 
not  immediately  comprehensible? 

"The  reason  is  that  Henri  Lavedan  is  to  be  admired 
mainly  as  a  painter  of  portraits.  .  .  .  The  American 
public  is,  no  doubt,  unconsciously  attracted  by  the  fact 
that  M.  Lavedan   19  more  sincerely  and  emphatically 


DESTRUCTIVE   CRITICISM       25 

moral  in  his  work  than  any  other  of  his  French  contem- 
poraries, with  the  single  exception  of  Eugene  Brieux. 
.  .  .  His  method  is  similar  to  that  of  one  of  the  most 
honourable  authors  of  our  recent  English  drama;  and  it 
would  not  be  at  all  beside  the  mark  to  describe  M.  Lave- 
dan  as  the  French  equivalent  of  Henry  Arthur  Jones." 
Etc.,  etc. 

What  have  we  here,  gentlemen?  We  have — if 
you  will  forgive  me  the  insuavity — flapdoodle. 
For  what  we  read  is  something  that  should  rightly 
have  been  destructive  criticism  but  that  has  been  in- 
stead shrewdly  palmed  off  on  the  layman  as  "con- 
structive" by  a  critic  slick  enough  to  understand 
that  there  is  nothing  like  extravagant  praise  to 
cover  and  hide  inaccuracies.  Examining  the 
Hamilton  composition  even  casually,  one  finds  it  a 
mass  of  gushing  inexactness  progressing  with  a  gay, 
jazzy  crescendo  to  a  sweet-sour  whack  on  the  cow- 
bell. 

By  no  first-rate  critic  in  or  out  of  France  has 
Lavedan  ever  been  recognized  as  of  the  company  of 
Rostand,  de  Curel,  Hervieu,  Donnay,  Lemaitre — 
or  even  de  Caillavet  and  de  Flers.  He  belongs 
rather,  as  every  first-rate  critic  without  exception 
has  agreed,  to  the  second  group  containing  such 
names  as  Bernstein  and  Bataille.  (We  will  omit 
Brieux    and    Porto-Riche — and    even    Capus — for 


26  COMEDIANS   ALL 

whatever  one's  personal  regard  for  their  eminence, 
their  positions  have  been  open  to  debate — and  let 
us  be  fair  to  the  Vogue  philosopher.)  Thus,  to 
say  that  Lavedan  is  one  of  the  foremost  repre- 
sentatives of  contemporary  French  dramatic  author- 
ship is  relatively  as  exact  as  to  say  that  Ludwig 
Fulda  (though  a  very  talented  man)  is  one  of  the 
foremost  representatives  of  contemporary  German 
dramatic  authorship.  Furthermore,  Lavedan's 
plays,  contrary  to  Mr.  Hamilton,  have — ^with  a 
single  exception — not  only  not  "enjoyed  a  quite 
unusual  success  in  the  commercial  theatre  of  this 
country"  but — as  Mr.  Hamilton  may  learn  if  he 
will  engage  the  records  of  the  late  Charles  Froh- 
man — have  lost  a  fine  pot  of  money.  And  the 
single  exception,  "Catherine,"  will  be  found  from 
the  same  easily  accessible  records  to  have  achieved 
a  comparative  success  less  on  its  own  merits  than 
by  virtue  of  the  excellent  showmanship  and  sen- 
timental hokum  slyly  practised  in  the  casting  of  the 
play — a  hokum  whose  adroit  press-agenting  will 
be  unfolded  to  the  Vogue  commentator  by  any 
theatrical  manager  of  the  day.  But  the  reliability 
of  our  impulsive  critic  is  even  more  simply  to  be 
plumbed  in  his  record  that  "The  Marquis  de 
Priola"  "has  been  played  for  many  weeks." 
Whatever  the  prosperity  of  its  future,  the  fact  re- 


DESTRUCTIVE  CRITICISM  27 
mains  that  when  Hamilton  wrote  this,  "The  Marquis 
de  Priola"  had  been  playing  exactly  two  weeks. 

Let  us  go  on.  We  now  find  Hamilton  contend- 
ing that  this  quite  unusual  commercial  success  (sic) 
of  Lavedan  is  due  (1)  to  his  ability  as  a  painter 
of  portraits,  and  (2)  to  his  moral  accent.  Yet 
"Catherine,"  Lavedan's  one  American  money- 
maker, will  be  admitted  even  by  Hamilton  himself 
to  contain  one  of  his  very  weakest  portraits,  not 
only  not  in  any  degree  to  be  compared  with  the 
portraits  painted  by  him  in  the  instances  of  "Le 
Prince  d'Aurec"  and  "Le  Nouveau  Jeu,"  but — 
more — not  to  be  compared  even  with  those  ex- 
hibited by  him  in  his  commercial  failures,  "Le 
Duel"  and  "Sire" — and  possibly  "Servir."  Again, 
to  argue  that  "the  American  public  is  no  doubt 
unconsciously  attracted  (and  here,  again,  sic)  by 
the  fact  that  M.  Lavedan  is  more  sincerely  and 
emphatically  moral  in  his  work  than  any  other  of 
his  French  contemporaries,  with  the  single  excep- 
tion of  Eugene  Brieux"  is  (1)  evidently  to  have 
contrived  to  read  an  esoteric  lewdness  into  such 
a  contemporary  as  Rostand,  for  instance,  and  (2) 
to  believe  that  the  American  public  was  no  doubt' 
unconsciously  attracted  to  so  many  enormously  lu- 
crative French  plays  of  "The  Girl  from  Rector's" 
order  because  of  their  sincere  and  emphatic  Sun- 


28  COMEDIANS   ALL 

day  School  aspect.  .  .  .  The  whimsey  of  the 
Henry  Arthur  Jones  comparison,  after  the  prelim- 
inary ecstatic  comet  solo  and  cheek-kissing,  I  need 
scarcely  expand  upon. 

§  4 

The  New  Scenery. — ^The  theory  of  the  so-called 
New  Scenery  falls  to  pieces  once  one  takes  a  sharp 
eye  to  it.  The  sponsors  of  the  neo-cheesecloth 
movement  maintain  that  the  best  way  to  fix  the  at- 
tention of  the  audience  upon  the  play  itself  is  to 
subordinate  the  scenery,  and  that  the  best  way,  in 
turn,  to  subordinate  the  scenery  is  to  simplify  it 
to  the  furthest  degree  compatible  with  beauty. 
The  fallacy  lies  in  believing  that  stark  simplicity 
may  not  be  quite  as  distracting  as  overburdened 
elaboration.  Compare  the  effect  upon  the  atten- 
tion of  a  bleak,  empty  stretch  of  gray  sea  and  the 
same  stretch  of  sea  dotted  with  myriad  gulls  and 
ships  of  all  descriptions.  Which  diverts  one 
hypnotically  the  more;  which  the  more  greatly 
cultivates  insensibility  and  inattention  to  whatever 
is  passing  before  one  in  one's  immediate  environ- 
ment? 


MATTER   OF   ADAPTATION    29 

§5 

The  Matter  of  Adaptation. — Despite  the  not  un- 
common assumption  that  approximately  all  that  is 
necessary  to  the  adaptation  of  the  Continental  play 
is  to  set  the  second-act  clock  back  six  hours,  take 
out  the  bedstead  and  cast  Mr.  John  Barrymore  for 
the  husband  instead  of  the  lover,  it  is  reversely 
true  that  this  business  of  adaptation  calls  for  the 
very  highest  playwriting  sagacity  and  talent. 
And  it  is  equally  true,  by  reason  of  this,  that  not 
more  than  one  such  adaptation  in  every  twenty- 
five  is  worth  a  hoot;  and  true,  further,  that  what 
holds  of  American-made  adaptations  holds  equally 
of  the  attempts  at  adaptation  made  by  the  Eng- 
lish, the  Germans,  the  Austrians,  and  the  French. 

It  is,  with  reservations,  almost  as  difficult  to 
translate  a  play  from  one  language  into  another, 
and  from  the  viewpoint  of  one  people  into  that  of 
another,  and  from  the  favour  of  one  nation  into 
the  prejudice  of  another  nation,  as  it  is  to  write 
the  play  in  the  first  place.  A  careful  scrutiny  of 
the  statistics  of  the  world's  theatre  for  the  last  ten 
years  discovers  astonishingly  few  adaptations  that, 
whether  from  the  artistic  or  even  the  commercial 
orthodoxy,  have  been  fully  successful.  And  the 
figures  seem  all  the  more  surprising  when  one  ob- 


30  COMEDIANS   ALL 

serves  the  very  large  proportion  of  failure  in  the 
matter  of  the  adaptation  of  plays  which  even  in 
their  original  form  would  appear  to  have  been 
automatically  pre-adapted,  and  easily  to  have  been 
made  ready  for  an  alien  audience  by  a  mere  scratch 
or  two  of  the  pen.  As,  for  example,  Margaret 
Mayo's  "Baby  Mine,"  intrinsically  a  farce  to  the 
French  taste,  which  even  the  adroit  Maurice  Hen- 
nequin  foozled  in  French  adaptation — and,  for 
further  example,  Eugene  Walter's  "Paid  in  Full," 
intrinsically  a  comedy-drama  to  the  German  taste, 
{vide  Rudolf  Lothar's  "I  Love  You"),  which  even 
the  equally  adroit  Schmieden  funked  in  German 
adaptation. 

There  is  surely  something  more  than  mere 
theatre  chance  behind  the  fact  that  ten  more  or  less 
celebrated  Continental  plays  failed  in  quick  succes- 
sion in  their  adapted  form  when  brought  to  the 
American  stage,  several  years  ago,  by  the  late 
Charles  Frohman.  For  all  Mr.  Belasco's  excep- 
tional astuteness  as  a  showman,  the  "Fable  of  the 
Wolf"  ("The  Phantom  Rival")  and  "The  Lily" 
baffled  his  most  shrewdly  selected  translators.  In 
France,  Synge's  "Playboy"  (adapted  by  Maurice 
Bourgeois  for  the  Theatre  de  I'Oeuvre  in  the 
Antoine),  Wedekind's  "Awakening  of  Spring" 
(adapted  by  Robert  d'Humieres),  Moody's  "Great 


MATTER  OF  ADAPTATION  31 
Divide"  (adapted  by  the  Cazamians),  Pinero's 
"House  in  Order"  (adapted  by  Bazalgette  and 
Bienstock),  to  say  nothing  of  Shaw's  "You  Never 
Can  Tell"  and  "Mrs.  Warren,"  Hebbel's  "Marie 
Madeleine,"  Jose  Godina's  "In  the  Gardens  of 
Murcie,"  and  scores  of  other  such  interesting  plays 
have  regularly  gone  astray.  In  Germany  and 
Austria,  this  has  been  equally  true  in  the  case  of 
innumerable  plays  like  Gorki's  "The  Last,"  Bar- 
rie's  "What  Every  Woman  Knows,"  Stephen  Phil- 
lips' "Paola  and  Francesca,"  C.  M,  S.  MacLellan's 
"Leah  Kleschna,"  Pinero's  "House  in  Order," 
Shaw's  "Androcles,"  and  Haddon  Chambers' 
"Passers-By."  And  true,  as  well,  has  the  situation 
been  in  England  with  a  vast  number  of  plays  by 
the  better  known  among  alien  dramatists — plays 
such  as  "The  Happy  Island"  (adapted  by  James 
Bernard  Fagan  from  Lengyel),  "The  Right  to 
Kill"  (adapted  by  Gilbert  Canman  from  Pierre 
Frondaie),  "The  Turning  Point"  (adapted  by 
Peter  le  Marchant  from  Kistemaekers),  "The 
Bread  of  Others"  (by  J.  N.  Duddington  from 
Turgenev),  "The  Head  of  the  Firm"  (by  Leslie 
Faber  from  Bergstrom) — the  plays,  beyond  and 
above  these,  of  Hauptmann,  Schnitzler,  Guimera, 
Molnar,  Guitry,  Bjomson,  Sudermann,  Di 
Giacomo,  Strindberg,  et  al. 


32  COMEDIANS   ALL 

When  an  adapted  play  fails,  whether  in  this 
country  or  in  England  or  on  the  Continent,  it  is 
the  habitual  critical  pastime  to  lay  blame  for  the 
demise  not  upon  the  adaptation,  but  upon  the 
original  play:  the  blame  usually  taking  flower  in 
the  theory  that  the  theme  and  development  of  the 
original  are  alien  to  the  philosophy,  taste  and  whim 
of  the  national  audience  immediately  concerned. 
In  the  majority  of  cases,  this  is,  of  course,  a  mere 
braying  and  wiggling  of  ears.  When  a  respect- 
able piece  of  dramatic  writing  fails  in  adaptation, 
the  philosophy,  taste  and  whim  of  the  alien  audi- 
ence are  often  less  at  fault  than  the  philosophy, 
taste  and  whim  of  the  adaptor.  For  example,  the 
failure  in  America  of  the  Hungarian  Imre  Foldes* 
"Hallo,"  adapted  by  Mr.  George  Broadhurst  as 
"Over  the  'Phone,*'  and  without  exception  laid  by 
the  critics  to  the  difference  in  moral  attitude  on 
the  part  of  Viennese  and  American  audiences,  was 
actually  due  not  to  the  difference  in  moral  atti- 
tude on  the  part  of  Viennese  and  American  audi- 
ences, but  to  the  difference  in  moral  attitude  on  the 
part  of  the  original  author  of  the  play  and  the 
adaptor.  How  in  God's  name  the  difference  in  sex 
moral 'attitude  'twixt  the  European  and  American 
audiences  could  be  brought  forward  as  an  argu- 
ment to  account  for  the  local  failure  of  the  play 


MATTER   OF   ADAPTATION     33 

when  the  adaptor  by  deleting  the  aduhery  motif 
and  substituting  therefor  a  kiss  motif  had  com- 
pletely removed  any  preliminary  ground  for  this 
difference  in  sex  moral  attitude,  is  pretty  hard  to 
understand.  The  failure  of  the  play  was  due,  not 
to  the  fact  that  an  American  audience  is  unsympa- 
thetic to  gay  adultery,  but,  very  simply,  to  the  fact 
that  the  adaptor  believed  an  American  audience 
was  unsympathetic  to  gay  adultery.  The  effect 
and  the  result  were  precisely  the  effect  and  the  re- 
sult that  would  automatically  be  achieved  were 
"Peg  o'  My  Heart"  to  be  adapted  for  French  audi- 
ences by,  say,  Pierre  Veber  and  Maurice  Remon 
and  were  the  MM.  Veber  and  Remon  to  think  to 
enchant  their  Gallic  public  by  deleting  the  art- 
less innocence  of  the  heroine  and  making  her,  in- 
stead, a  fille  de  joie. 

Apart  from  this  adjudging  the  failure  of  adap- 
tations in  terms  of  the  box-office,  we  observe  an 
even  more  striking  failure  in  terms  of  artistic  and 
intelligent  enterprise.  Bernstein's  "The  Thief," 
for  example,  though  it  achieved  a  considerable 
commercial  success  in  its  American  adaptation, 
was  in  this  local  reincarnation  little  more  than  a 
senseless  yell  potage.  The  entire  meaning  and  in- 
tent of  the  play — the  strychnia  of  lingerie,  to  wit — 
was  slashed  out  of  the  text  by  the  adaptor,  with  the 


34  COMEDIANS   ALL 

result  that  what  remained  was  nothing  but  a  ten- 
cent  detective  story  culminating  in  a  noisy  Bertha 
M.  Clay  love  scene. 

If  Mr.  Granville  Barker  were  entrusted  with  the 
job  of  bringing  Albrecht  Diirer's  painting  of  the 
"Adoration  of  the  Trinity"  to  London  from  Vienna, 
it  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that  he  would  exercise 
the  greatest  care  in  transit  to  see  that  no  nicks  got 
into  it.  But  when  Mr.  Granville  Barker  is  en- 
trusted with  the  job  of  bringing  Arthur  Schnitz- 
ler's  word  painting  of  "Anatol"  to  London  from 
Vienna,  what  does  he  do?  He  does  exactly  what 
nine-tenths  of  the  adaptors  do  when  a  work  of  art 
is  given  into  their  care.  He  nicks  it  up  with  his 
own  petty  morals  and  petty  prejudices  until  little 
more  remains  of  the  original  than  the  frame. 
Thus  also  does  an  American  adaptor  like  Mr.  Leo 
Ditrichstein — even  though  he  is  one  of  the  best — 
slash  to  pieces  Molnar's  "Fable  of  the  Wolf,"  does 
an  English  adaptor  like  Mr.  Cosmo  Gordon  Len- 
nox slaughter  de  Caillavet's  and  de  Flers'  "L'Ane 
de  Buridan"  to  make  a  Frohman  holiday  and  one 
like  Mr.  Arthur  Bourchier  mutilate  Lavedan's 
"Duel"  beyond  recognition,  do  French  adaptors 
like  the  MM.  Germain  and  Trebor  scuttle  the  Ger- 
man Robert  Reiner's  "War"  and  a  German  adaptor 


MATTER    OF   ADAPTATION     35 

like  Rudolf  Presber  the  French  Hennequin's  and 
Bilhaud's  "Best  of  Wives." 

The  trouble  with  the  majority  of  adaptors,  wher- 
ever one  finds  them,  is  a  very  simple  trouble:  they 
imagine  that  adaptation  consists  primarily  in  adapt- 
ing an  alien  play  to  the  different  taste  of  a  local 
audience,  where,  in  reality,  adaptation  should  con- 
sist rather  in  adapting  the  different  taste  of  a 
local  audience  to  the  alien  play. 

Take,  for  instance,  a  French  farce-comedy  like 
"Le  Rubicon."  To  adapt  this  diverting  play  in 
such  wise  that  it  would  not  colour  the  cheek  of  an 
Anglo-Saxon  audience  would  be  utterly  to  ruin  it. 
There  would  be  nothing  left  of  it — and  it  would 
unquestionably  fail  with  the  first  or  second  per- 
formance. But  to  adapt  the  Anglo-Saxon  audi- 
ence to  "Le  Rubicon"  by  some  such  device,  say,  as 
having  a  squad  of  supers  in  policemen's  uniforms 
rush  down  the  aisle  at  the  final  curtain  and,  after 
a  denunciatory  speech  by  the  jackass  captain,  pre- 
tend to  raid  the  theatre  on  the  ground  that  the  play 
was  immoral  and  not  fit  for  an  Anglo-Saxon  audi- 
ence, would  be  to  preserve  the  play  and  probably 
pack  the  streets  with  ticket-boosting  Blumbergs, 
Rosenblatts  and  Cohens.  By  such  a  process,  the 
prejudice   of  a   local  audience  might   be   simply 


36  COMEDIANS   ALL 

adapted  to  the  alien  play — and  all  ends  aptly 
served.  For  what  we  thus  should  have  would  be, 
obviously,  the  audience  brought  into  impact  with 
the  play  rather  than,  as  is  general,  the  play 
brought  into  impact  with  the  audience.  What 
such  an  alien  audience  demands  is  not,  as  the 
adaptors  seem  to  think,  that  the  characters  in  the 
play  shall  not  condone  things  which  to  the  alien 
audience  are  base  and  immoral,  but,  to  the  contrary, 
that  it  (the  alien  audience)  shall  not  condone  or 
seem  to  condone  those  things.  This  is  the  point 
the  adaptor  more  often  than  not  confuses,  or  over- 
looks entirely. 

§6 

Skating  on  Thin  Ice. — One  of  the  droll  delusions 
of  our  American  dramatic  critics  is  that  the  French 
farce  writer  is  without  a  peer  in  the  form  of  exer- 
cise known  as  skating  on  thin  ice.  The  truth  of 
the  matter,  of  course,  is  that  it  is  not  the  French 
farce  writer  that  is  without  a  peer  in  the  enter- 
prise, but  rather  the  French  language.  And  par- 
ticularly the  French  language  in  the  department  of 
its  daring  phrase,  simile  and  metaphor.  Skating 
on  thin  ice  requires  no  mental  nor  inventive  dex- 
terity or  balance  when  the  medium  of  expression 
is  already  automatically  suited  to  the  manoeuvre. 


SKATING  ON  THIN  ICE  37 
And  yet,  even  with  this  immense  advantage,  the 
French  farce  writer  often  reveals  himself  a  clumsy 
fellow  in  the  handling  of  delicate  situations.  The 
American  Hopwood,  working  in  a  stiff  and  flinty 
language,  has  nonetheless  skated  over  thin  ice  more 
gracefully  than  such  French  farceurs  as  Vemeuil, 
de  Bassan,  Gandera,  Hennequin,  Mars,  Basset, 
Leon  Xanrof,  Jean  Martet,  and  the  jocose  Giafferi 
and  Jean  d'Aguzan.  Bracco,  the  Italian,  has  at 
his  best  glided  over  thin  ice  more  adroitly  than 
Feydeau,  the  excellent  Frenchman,  at  his  best. 
Schnitzler  and  Bahr,  the  Austrians,  working  in 
one  of  the  baldest  of  languages,  have  equalled,  if 
not  actualy  excelled,  the  best  modem  French 
skaters  at  their  own  game.  And  even  such  inferior 
craftsmen  as  the  German  Lothar  Schmidt,  in  a 
language  balder  still,  since  unlike  the  Viennese  it 
is  untouched  by  French  breezes,  have  in  such 
pieces  as  "Only  a  Dream"  turned  the  trick  with 
a  high  prettiness.  To  any  one  acquainted  with 
the  ready-made  subtleties  of  colloquial  French, 
the  enormous  initial  advantage  enjoyed  by  the 
French  writer  over  the  writers  in  other  languages 
must  be  apparent.  Let  an  American  like  Hop- 
wood  write  in  French  and  a  Frenchman  like  Coolus 
write  in  English,  and  we  should  soon  enough  see 
which  was  the  more  expert  skater. 


38  COMEDIANS   ALL 

§  7 

The  Actor-Manager. — The  career  of  the  actor- 
manager  in  the  English-speaking  theatre  has  be- 
come so  largely  a  matter  of  stencil  that  it  may, 
almost  without  exception,  be  safely  predicted  in 
terms  of  three  stages.  The  first  stage  finds  the 
actor-manager — at  fifty  still  vastly  intrigued  by  his 
personal  beauty — given  to  presenting  himself  in 
sentimental  drawing-room  comedies  wherein,  by 
virtue  of  an  elegant  morning  coat  and  a  gift  for 
polite  repartee,  he  succeeds  magnificently  in  win- 
ning the  affections  of  the  lovely  ingenue  from  the 
juvenile.  The  second  stage  finds  him — nearing 
sixty  and  now  reluctantly  intrigued  somewhat  less 
by  his  manly  beauty  than  by  his  cosmic  eminence 
— given  to  presenting  himself  in  biographical 
plays  wherein,  by  virtue  of  an  illustrious  historical 
name,  a  gray  wig,  a  red  plush  suit,  and  alternately 
witty  and  heroic  sentiments  culled  from  the  mouth 
of  the  dramatized  deceased,  he  succeeds  in  win- 
ning for  himself  at  second-hand  all  the  plaudits 
withheld  from  the  poor  dead  genius  in  his  lifetime. 
And  the  third  stage  finds  him — beyond  sixty  and 
fat,  and  hence  perforce  brought  to  abjure  his  mir- 
ror and  think  of  himself  primarily  as  an  actor — 


ON    OBSERVATION  39 

given,  with  but  minor  excursions  for  old  times' 
sake,  to  Shakespeare. 

§8 

On  Observation. — What  passes  for  sharp  obser- 
vation on  the  part  of  even  the  best  of  our  comic 
playwrights  is  actually  most  often  a  mere  appre- 
hension of  some  trivial  and  entirely  negligible 
phenomenon  the  novelty  of  which  the  critics  mis- 
take for  genuine  percipience.  Thus,  were  I,  turned 
showmaker,  to  remark  in  a  play  that  it  always 
looks  like  rain  through  a  screen,  or  that  the  most 
uncomfortable  thing  in  the  world  is  trying  to  eat 
dinner  without  a  napkin,  or  that  there  is  always 
something  that  sounds  drunk  about  a  hansom  cab 
late  at  night,  or  that  there  are  probably  not  two 
persons  in  the  whole  United  States  who  know 
Little  Eva's  last  name — I  should  be  swallowed  as 
a  playwright  with  a  more  or  less  acute  eye  to  the 
idiosyncrasies  of  the  world.  Of  such  perfectly 
simple  things — a  dozen  of  which  occur  to  the 
veriest  blockhead  every  hour — is  the  so-called 
"observation"  of  our  playmakers  composed. 
Thus,  Mr.  Avery  Hopwood,  probably  the  best 
writer  of  farce  we  possess,  has  achieved,  in  all  his 


40  COMEDIANS   ALL 

farces  from  beginning  to  end,  little  more  authentic 
observation  of,  and  comment  on,  contemporary  life, 
persons,  institutions  and  manners  than  is  contained 
in  his  "Fair  and  Warmer"  line  to  the  effect  that 
however  late  one  gets  to  "Siegfried"  there  is  al- 
ways one  more  act.  Thus,  Miss  Margaret  Mayo, 
in  all  her  otherwise  capable  work,  from  first  to 
last  has  vouchsafed  an  eye  that  has  observed  little 
save  that  a  fire  at  night  seems  always  to  be  just 
around  the  comer.  All  the  farce  writers  we  have 
— and  we  have  some  good  ones — have  in  all  their 
farces  combined  presented  less  genuine  sharp  ob- 
servation of  life  and  less  genuine  sharp  criticism 
of  that  life  than  is  contained  in  a  single  news- 
paper cartoon  of  John  T.  McCutcheon,  W.  E.  Hill 
or  H.  T.  Webster. 

§9 

Maeterlinck  as  Dramatist. — The  pretensions  of 
Maurice  Maeterlinck,  the  Belgian  Madame  Bla- 
vatsky,  long  since  brilliantly  stripped  in  the  dis- 
cerning essay  of  Andre  Tridon,  once  more  brazenly 
unveil  themselves  in  the  sequel  to  "The  Blue  Bird" 
and  pirouette  before  the  jury  in  all  their  droll 
nudity.  This  sequel,  called  "The  Betrothal,"  is, 
like  its  stem-play,  intrinsically  little  more  than  a 
George  V.  Hobart  or  Walter  Browne  Broadway 


MAETERLINCK  41 

morality  show — much  more  suavely  and  restrain- 
edly  written,  true  enough,  yet  still  of  a  but  slightly 
higher  level  in  the  way  of  genuine  imagination, 
philosophy,  beauty,  or  sound  art.  It  vouchsafes 
the  same  immature  vagueness  (promiscuously  mis- 
taken for  mysticism),  the  same  gaunt  literalness 
(likewise  confounded  with  designed  simplicity), 
and  the  same  dialectic  diabetes  (similarly  confused 
with  sweetness  of  viewpoint)  that  its  predecessor 
vouchsafed.  And  it  convinces  all  who  in  such  ap- 
praisals are  not  given  to  mistaking  beautiful 
scenery  for  beautiful  drama  that  its  creator  is  the 
most  greatly  overestimated  dramatic  writer  of  our 
place  and  time. 

Dealing  with  the  adventures  of  the  adolescent 
Tyltyl  incidental  to  his  search  for  an  appropriate 
mate,  "The  Betrothal,"  like  "The  Blue  Bird," 
leaves  in  one  the  feeling  that  something  is  missing 
when  at  the  fall  of  the  final  curtain  one  isn't  in- 
vited downstairs  for  strawberries  and  cake.  The 
air  of  a  Sunday  School  entertainment — albeit  a 
very  proficient  one — is  difficult  to  get  rid  of.  For 
Maeterlinck  is  the  de  luxe  Sunday  School  superin- 
tendent of  the  modem  drama:  an  amalgam  of  an 
European  John  D.  Rockfeller,  Jr.,  and  Charles 
Rann  Kennedy,  with  one  of  his  eyes  fastened 
piously    upon    the    Aldobrandini    Madonna    and 


42  COMEDIANS   ALL 

Sacre  Coeur  and  the  other  rolling  slyly  at  the  Mile. 
Arlette  Dorgere  and  the  Bouffes  Parisiens.  He 
has  written  phrases  and  passages  of  sheer  and  com- 
pelling beauty  into  the  bulk  of  his  work,  but — with 
minor  exception  hereinafter  to  be  noted — he  has  not 
to  this  day  in  that  entire  work  written  a  single  thing 
that  has  had  a  single  thought  in  it,  or  a  single  won- 
der, or  a  single  dream,  much  above  the  pitch  of  his 
own  Tyltyl's  metaphysic.  Beside  even  J.  M.  Bar- 
rie,  and  the  imagination  and  fancy  of  Barrie,  he 
is  mere  advanced  vaudeville:  a  literate  song  and 
dance  man  vainly  endeavouring  to  clog  to  Mozart's 
G  Minor  symphony. 

The  true  artist  is  ever  a  true  critic  of  his  own 
work.  Somewhere  in  his  heart  there  is  a  bit  of  a 
critical  snicker,  a  trace  of  a  smile  at  himself.  In 
the  heart  of  Maeterlinck,  as  that  heart  is  revealed 
to  us,  there  is  only  a  silk  badge  and  a  high  hat. 
Where  a  Barrie,  say,  in  a  "Peter  Pan" — which 
Maeterlinck  at  his  best  has  not  approached — 
winkingly  trots  out  a  tot  of  two  to  claim  the  play 
as  her  own,  the  Belgian  Mrs.  Rasputin  sets  out  his 
"Betrothal"  (a  fuddled  effort  at  a  kind  of  "Peter 
Pan")  with  all  the  deadly  soberness  of  a  Method- 
ist picnic.  The  body  of  this  "Betrothal"  is  re- 
lated in  terms  of  the  dream  dreamt  by  Tyltyl  and 
the  amateurish  content  and  literality  of  the  writ- 


MAETERLINCK  43 

ing  might  thus  be  attributed — as  in  the  instance 
of  "Peter  Pan" — to  the  deliberate  and  eminently 
appropriate  attack  of  the  dramatist.  But  never  for 
an  instant  can  one  believe  this  in  the  case  of  Maeter- 
linck. The  amateurish  content  and  literality  of  the 
dreamless  coda  to  "The  Blue  Bird"  and  omega  to 
this  sequel  have  taught  one  too  much  for  that. 
The  amateurish  content  and  the  literality  of  the 
writing  of  "The  Betrothal"  are  not  the  result  of  de- 
liberation and  relevant  treatment;  they  are  the  re- 
sult, purely  and  simply,  of  an  amateurish  and 
become  sterile  mind.  Tyltyl  awake  in  "The  Be- 
trothal" and  Tyltyl  a-dream  in  "The  Blue  Bird" 
are  the  same,  and  their  adventurings  are  the  same, 
and  the  philosophies  and  imaginations  that  moti- 
vate them  are  the  same.  And  all  are  barren,  puny, 
third-rate.  The  symbolism  of  a  Destiny  that 
shrinks  to  nothingness  as  life's  affairs,  by  the  very 
theme  of  the  play,  abide  by  the  decisions  of  this 
same  Destiny — the  magic  cap  that  sees  into  the 
soul  of  a  fanatical  miser  and  discerns  in  that  soul 
a  great  prodigality  and  charity — the  philosophy 
that  the  true  worth  and  profundity  of  a  man's  love 
for  a  woman  is  conditioned  on  the  approval  of  the 
children  that  are  to  be  bom  to  them — of  such  im- 
penetrable bosh  and  quack  sentimentality  is  such 
a  Maeterlinck  work  as  this  "Betrothal"  all  compact. 


44  COMEDIANS   ALL 

The  truth  about  this  Flemish  Ekdal  pere  is  that, 
aside  from  his  three  little  one-act  plays,  "L'ln- 
tnise,"  "Interieur"  and  "Les  Aveugles,"  he  has 
written  nothing  for  the  stage  that  might  contribute 
legitimacy  to  the  exalted  estate  in  critical  and  ar- 
tistic favour  to  which  he  has  attained.  And  these 
little  plays — the  two  best,  in  particular — were  the 
fruit  of  his  earlier  dramatic  years.  Founding  the 
theory  of  the  symbolist  drama,  he  was  to  reveal 
himself  incapable  of  the  strength  to  build  higher 
upon  the  cornerstone;  and  the  progressing  years 
have  disclosed  him  more  and  more  in  the  light  of 
a  half-squiffy  and  extraordinarily  moony  female 
Joseph  Conrad  wildly  tossed  about  and  regularly 
ship-wrecked  on  the  allegorical  high  seas.  The 
Maeterlinck  of  1902  and  on,  the  Maeterlinck  of 
"Monna  Vanna"  and  "Maria  Magdalene,"  of  "The 
Blue  Bird"  and  "The  Betrothal,"  the  Maeterlinck  of 
Sunday  supplement  uplift  sermons  on  the  lovely 
life  after  sweet  death,  the  Maeterlinck  wistfully 
smelling  at  a  rosebud  while  being  interviewed  in 
his  ruined  castle,  the  Maeterlinck  photographed 
atop  a  hill  at  sunset  looking  out  to  sea  like  a 
moving  picture  fade-out,  the  Maeterlinck  of  the 
carefully  mussed  gray  hair  and  the  sad  Marie 
Doro  look  carefully  cultivated  in  his  eyes — this 
is  the  soul  of  the  true  Maeterlinck,  the  true  soul 


MAETERLINCK  45 

of  the  Belgian  Belasco,  the  mark  of  an  artist  who 
started  forth  nobly  and  not  without  splendour  on 
the  highway  of  literature  and,  finding  the  road 
long  and  winding  and  full  of  rocks,  calmly  sat  him- 
self down  and  decided  to  make  easy  and  com- 
fortable winks  at  the  box  office,  at  Mr.  Hearst's 
opulent  pocketbook,  and  at  Dodd,  Mead  and  Com- 
pany. 

Maeterlinck's  neo-romanticist  fame,  when  closely 
analyzed,  is  found  to  have  been  the  result  of  a 
critical  confusion  of  dramaturgic  novelty  with 
artistic  integrity.  On  the  higher  plane,  Maeter- 
linck profited  by  the  delusion  much  the  same  as 
did,  on  the  lower,  the  author  of  the  tin-pot  "On 
Trial."  His  valiant  attempt  to  disengage  art  from 
the  details  of  actuality,  as  the  phrase  has  it,  has 
succeeded  in  the  main  only  in  disengaging  himself 
from  the  details  of  art.  If  he  has  divorced  him- 
self from  the  details  of  actuality,  he  has  made  the 
actual  moonlight  of  the  world  into  a  mere  spot- 
light stage  moonlight,  and  the  actual  mysterious 
stars  of  the  heavens  into  so  many  mere  miniature 
incandescent  bulbs.  He  is  not  a  voice  in  the  wilder- 
ness; he  is  a  wilderness  in  the  voice.  Words, 
words,  words — many  of  them  singing  and  lovely — 
but  still  mere  words,  words,  words.  If  he  knows 
the  effects  he  desires  to  create,  his  skill  is  insuffi- 


46  COMEDIANS   ALL 

cient  to  permit  him  to  obtain  them.  His  rains  im- 
press one  as  falling  from  shower-baths,  and  one 
detects  the  stagehand  hiding  between  his  printed 
lines  and  obligingly  shaking  the  sheet  of  tin  and 
rolling  the  peas  'round  the  drum-head  to  create  his 
storms.  He  is,  as  most  always  he  has  been,  a  poet 
sitting  bravely  and  rather  splendidly  astride  the 
wooden  horse  on  a  merry-go-round,  riding  in  blind 
and  dogged  confidence  to  a  destination  in  the  next 
block.  He  is  Beethoven  on  a  mandolin;  Rosetti 
in  passe-partout. 

Not  long  ago,  there  appeared  in  one  of  the  maga- 
zines a  little  sketch  called  "The  Master  Mind." 

"The  ghostly  darkness  of  the  room" — it  went — 
"served  to  heighten  the  effect  of  the  seance.  A 
sense  of  weirdness  pervaded  everything.  The  pale, 
calm  face  of  the  medium  contrasted  with  the  awe- 
struck countenances  of  the  spectators  as  the  table 
rose  in  the  air.  Diabolism,  mysticism,  reigned 
supreme.  Only  one  face,  boredly  indifferent, 
seemed  out  of  place.  It  belonged  to  the  gentle- 
man who  manipulated  the  piano  wire." 

Here,  unintentionally,  is  the  best  impression- 
istic criticism  of  Maeterlinck  and  the  drama  of 
Maeterlinck  and  the  audiences  before  that  drama 
that  I  have  had  the  fortune  to  come  across. 

Taking  Maeterlinck's  dramatic  writing  from  first 


MAETERLINCK  47 

to  last,  I  cannot  resist  the  conviction  that  it  is,  with 
the  obvious  exception  of  "Monna  Vanna"  and  pos- 
sibly "Maria  Magdalene,"  the  essay  form  gone 
wrong.  The  poetic  essay,  that  is.  "The  delicacy 
of  technic  displayed,"  wrote  the  excellent  Huneker 
of  his  "Aglavaine  and  Selysette"  back  in  the  drink- 
ing days,  "is  almost  inconceivable."  One  is 
tempted  rather  to  say  almost  invisible.  For 
"Aglavaine  and  Selysette"  is  poetry  of  a  sort  run, 
as  the  printers  say,  solid.  There  is  no  more 
dramatic  technic  discernible  in  its  manoeuvering 
than  there  is  in  the  "Anatomy  of  Melancholy." 
The  impression  it  leaves  in  the  playhouse  is  of  a 
stained  glass  window — considerably  cracked — mis- 
placed in  the  wall  of  the  late  George  Edwardes' 
Gaiety;  of  a  girls'  choir  tackling  Moussorgsky. 

In  the  critical  school  that  detects  in  Maeterlinck 
a  divine  fire  which  sees  "the  star  in  the  grain  of 
wheat,"  I  find  myself,  alas,  wearing  the  dunce's 
cap  and  sitting  on  a  high  chair  in  the  same  comer 
with  the  Ashley  Dukes  who  observes  of  Maeter- 
linck's advent:  "This  was  the  destined  hour  of  the 
magician,  and  Maeterlinck  appeared.  The  ap- 
parition was  startling,  and  some  critics,  seeking 
a  pompous  imbecility  to  cover  their  confusion, 
named  him  'the  Belgian  Shakespeare.'  In  this 
fashion  Tchekhov  might  be  named  'the  Russian 


4a  COMEDIANS   ALL 

Ibsen/  or  Hugo  von  Hofmannsthal  'the  Austrian 
Dante.'  Such  is  the  disintegrating  force  of  the 
new  idea  upon  the  mind  of  the  expert  labeller." 
The  technic  of  Maeterlinck  in  his  vain  attempt  to 
articulate  the  subconscious  mood  through  sugges- 
tion and  symbolic  speech — an  attempt  generally 
confused  by  his  admirers  with  an  accomplishment 
— is  at  bottom  the  technic  of  the  Futurists  and  other 
such  current  liberally  spoofed  art  cults.  Yet  the 
same  critics  who  get  up  steam  over  the  theories 
and  technic  of  Maeterlinck  gallop  to  finger  the 
nose  at  the  theories  and  technic  of  the  Futurists. 
Maeterlinck,  in  this  general  enterprise,  amiably 
recalls  Mr.  Strunsky's  Pub,  the  Hindu  Omega: 

"Puh  is,"  we  are  told,  "ultimate.  But  he  is  far  more 
than  the  last  word.  He  has  banished  the  last  word. 
Puh  is  the  writer  who  writes  without  words.  He  has 
magnificently  swept  away  the  narrow  conventions  of 
word-forms,  outworn  and  outgrown  traditions.  His 
thoughts  are  universal,  not  subject  to  time  and  space, 
needing  no  elaborately  false  temporal  mediums  for  mak- 
ing them  known.  In  fine,  Puhism  is  the  science  of 
awakening  thought  by  suggestion. 

"Flith!  F-l-i-t-h!  Don't  you  immediately  hear  in 
those  two  magic  words  the  concentrated  autumn  wind 
sweeping  truculently  through  the  brown  woods  and  the 
sad  scraping  of  raw  limbs  against  each  other?  Don't 
you   see   the   gaunt   tree-trunks   scrawling   against  the 


MAETERLINCK  49 

clouds  and  the  shivering  rabbit  whisking  through  the 
eddying  leaves?  Or  does  that  picture  fail  to  chime  in 
with  your  mood?  Ah!  Pub  is  adaptable,  Flith! 
F-l-i-t-h!  Hear  now  a  gentle  breeze  sighing  senti- 
mentally across  the  iris-beds  along  the  river  and  one 
pee-wee  calling  to  another  in  the  top  of  the  nearest 
willow;  see  the  warm  sunlight  making  patterns  along  the 
hills  and  flicking  the  wave-tops  with  silver. 

"Puhism  is  nothing  more  than  the  adaptation  of  litera- 
ture to  the  personality  of  the  reader.  Besides  saving 
paper,  the  author  never  disagreeably  accentuates  him- 
self, and  each  reader  is  left  with  his  chance  mood  un- 
directed and  virginal  ly  pure.  To  each  his  own  reac- 
tion to  Life.  What  more  can  we  ask  of  an  author  than 
that  he  provide  his  readers  with  thoughts?  And  what 
more  simple  and  natural  than  to  supply  them  with  their 
own  thoughts?" 

In  the  aim  of  the  technic  of  Maeterlinck,  the  sub- 
conscious mood,  previously  expressed  only  in 
terms  of  music,  found  words.  But  in  the  aim 
alone.  For  "Pelleas"  and  "Ariane" — and  even 
"Monna  Vanna" — have  for  the  expression  of  that 
mood  deserted  their  step-parent  and  gone  back 
to  their  real  birthplace,  the  orchestra,  and  to  their 
real  fathers  and  mothers  hiding  in  the  throats 
of  the  operatic  stage. 

But  if  "The  Betrothal"  roughly  strips  the 
Maeterlinckian  pretensions  to  what  may  be  called 
the  musicless  music-drama,  "The  Burgomaster  of 


50  COMEDIANS   ALL 

Stilemonde,"  his  latest  work  for  the  stage,  even 
more  roughly  tears  the  undeserved  purple  from  the 
Maeterlinckian  pretensions  to  an  imagination,  a 
passion  and  a  vision  powerful  enough  to  act  in  the 
presence  of  real  prose  catastrophe.  This  last  play 
is  in  the  most  liberal  estimate  merely  second-rate 
Broadway  "war"  melodrama.  The  name  and 
fame  of  its  author,  of  course,  have  as  usual  taken 
criticism  by  the  nose  and  there  has  been  the  cus- 
tomary attempt  to  ferret  out  absent  virtues.  Yet 
the  work  is  without  dramatic  or  literary  distinction. 
Edward  Sheldon,  a  Broadway  playwright,  could 
have  written  the  play  better  than  Maeterlinck  has 
written  it:  not  only  from  the  point  of  view  of 
actable  drama  but,  I  venture  to  say,  from  the 
point  of  view  of  literature.  Had  "The  Burgo- 
master of  Stilemonde"  been  signed  with  the  name 
of  some  Max  Marcin,  for  instance,  it  would  have 
been  jestingly  charged  with  all  the  manifold  im- 
perfections which,  since  it  has  been  signed  with 
the  name  of  the  Belgian  Amy  Lowell,  have  been 
stereotypedly  and  solemnly  accepted  as  cardinal 
excellences. 

In  conclusion,  to  repeat  and  sum  up.  What- 
ever Maeterlinck's  debatable  eminence  in  the  world 
of  letters,  there  can  remain  increasingly  small 
doubt  that  in  the  world  of  drama  his  position — 


MAETERLINCK  51 

save  in  the  minor  instances  of  the  three  one-act 
plays  already  referred  to — has  been  absurdly  over- 
estimated. To  this  overestimate,  various  easily  ap- 
praisable  things  have  conduced.  Literary  critics, 
whose  delusion  that  any  short  novel  with  the  de- 
scriptions printed  in  italics,  the  dialogue  indented 
and  the  names  of  the  characters  centered  consti- 
tutes an  actable  play,  have  mistaken  such  of  his 
typographically  mis-set,  if  in  this  instance  ex- 
tremely praiseworthy,  novels  as  "Pelleas  and 
Melisande"  for  effective  theatre  drama — when, 
presented  as  a  play  without  the  blood  transfusion 
of  music,  the  composition  actually  constitutes  act- 
ing drama  in  the  same  degree  that  Fouillee's  psy- 
chological treatise,  "Temperamente  et  Caractere," 
constitutes  a  novel.  Further,  the  sedulously  cul- 
tivated and  craftily  promulgated  picturesqueness 
of  the  man  himself  and  of  his  life  have  operated 
— very  much  as  the  same  thing  operated  on  a  much 
smaller  scale  in  the  case  of  the  late  Richard  Hard- 
ing Davis — toward  the  confounding  of  values  that 
habitually  infects  all  the  numerous  impressible 
swallowers  of  magnificent  hocus-pocus.  Again 
further,  the  first  and  largely  un weighed  (if  at  the 
time  understandable)  enthusiasms  of  such  first-rate 
literary  critics  as  Huneker  contrived  to  affect  and 
dazzle — as  is  the  wont  of  literary  criticism — much 


52  COMEDIANS   ALL 

of  the  subsequent  dramatic  criticism.  And 
further  still,  the  man  himself  struck  almost  at  the 
outset  of  his  career  the  extreme  good  fortune  of 
falling  in  with,  and  being  personally  liked  by,  a 
noteworthy  group  of  French  boosters.  This  group 
literally  "made"  Maeterlinck  in  the  same  un- 
critical way  that,  on  a  lower  level  in  the  England 
of  the  moment,  Swinnerton's  and  Merrick's  close 
friends  are  doing  their  damndest  to  "make"  them. 

§  10 

Intelligence  and  the  Actor. — To  argue  that  all 
actors — or,  at  least,  the  great  majority  of  actors — 
are  numskulls  and  to  prove  it  is  of  a  piece  with 
arguing,  and  proving,  that  all  fat  men — or,  at  least, 
the  great  majority  of  fat  men — perspire.  To  find 
fault  with  an  actor  for  being  a  numskull  is  to  find 
fault  with  a  philosopher  for  being  intelligent. 
Numskullery  is  one  of  the  essential  attributes  of 
the  actor;  without  it,  he  is  an  incompetent  in  his 
profession,  a  fellow  ill-equipped  for  his  life's 
work,  a  soul  doomed  to  ignominious  failure. 
Imagine  an  intelligent  man — a  man  like  Lincoln  or 
Gladstone,  say — rouging  his  lips  and  cheeks,  black- 
ening his  bald  spot,  beading  his  eyelashes,  dressing 
himself  up  like  the  top  of  an  old-fashioned  mantel- 


INTELLIGENCE  AND  ACTOR  53 
piece  and,  thus  arrayed,  swelling  proudly  at  the 
handclapping  of  a  houseful  of  yokels  when  with  a 
tin  sword  he  stands  at  the  top  of  a  papier-mache 
stairway  in  a  J.  Stanley  Weyman  opus  and,  yell- 
ing "For  the  glory  of  La  Belle  France!"  at  the 
top  of  his  lungs,  chases  three  nervous  college-boy 
supers  back  into  the  wings.  .  .  . 

What  is  often  mistaken  for  intelligence  in  an 
actor  is  merely  a  talent  for  not  reading  incorrectly 
the  work  of  the  dramatist.  But  it  actually  requires 
no  more  authentic  intrinsic  intelligence  to  play,  say, 
the  King  in  Shakespeare's  "Lear"  than  it  requires 
to  play  the  oboe  in  Beethoven's  Op.  87.  Applica- 
tion it  does  require,  yes — and,  with  application,  a 
good  pair  of  lungs,  a  clear  speaking  voice,  a  copy 
of  a  pronouncing  dictionary,  a  presence  at  least  ap- 
proximating that  of  Gimbel  Brothers'  chief  floor- 
walker, and  a  measure  of  experience  in  testing 
these  things  out  upon  a  brilliantly  illuminated  plat- 
form. But  intelligence?  Hardly  .  .  .  The  eight 
most  effective  actors  on  our  American  stage 
graduated  to  that  stage  from  the  respective  pro- 
fessions of  shoe  clerk,  valet,  dog  trainer,  dry  goods 
salesman,  circus  acrobatic  clown,  clothing-store 
sidewalk  puUer-in,  race-track  tout  and  haber- 
dasher's clerk. 


54  COMEDIANS   ALL 

§  11 

The  One- Act  Play. — It  is  commonly  argued,  and 
not  without  a  measure  of  eloquence,  that  the  one- 
act  form  of  playwriting  is  just  one-third  as  difficult 
of  accomplishment  as  the  three-act  form.  This, 
like  many  contentions  of  a  kidney,  is  open  to 
doubt.  It  is  quite  obvious,  of  course,  that  it  is  a 
very  much  easier  thing  to  write  a  one-act  play  like 
one  of  Alfred  Sutro's  than  a  three-act  play  like 
one  of  Alfred  Sutro's,  but  it  is  of  course  quite 
equally  obvious  that  it  is  a  much  easier  thing  to 
write  a  three-act  play  like  one  of  Alfred  Sutro's 
than  a  one-act  play  like  one  of  Lord  Dunsany's. 
The  critic  who  appraises  a  play  by  its  length  is 
the  species  of  connoisseur  who  appraises  a  dinner 
by  the  number  of  its  courses  or  a  shirt  by  the  lib- 
eralness  of  the  portion  that  one  tucks  into  one's 
trousers.  To  judge  a  work  of  art  by  its  length 
is  to  believe  Schnitzler's  "Professor  Bemhardi"  a 
finer  thing  than  Schnitzler's  "Christmas  Shopping," 
Puccini's  "Girl  of  the  Golden  West"  a  more  lovely 
thing  than  Brahms'  piano  concerto  in  B  flat  major, 
or  Rembrandt's  "Sortie  of  the  Company  of  Frans 
Banning  Cock"  a  meaner  work  than  the  cyclorama 
of  the  Battle  of  Lookout  Mountain. 


THE   JAPANESE   PLAY         55 

§  12 

The  Japanese  Play. — The  delusion  that  a  one-act 
play  is,  hy  reason  of  its  being  a  one-act  play,  ever 
a  less  important  creation  than  a  three-act  play  is 
a  delusion  as  persistent  as  that  other  critical  de- 
lusion which  has  to  do  with  the  lack  of  poetry  in 
Japanese  plays  written  by  Occidentals.  Let  an  Oc- 
cidental compose  some  such  play  as  "The  Willow 
Tree"  and  even  the  more  discerning  theatrical  re- 
viewers will  find  much  in  it  to  be  cross  with,  will 
lament  the  unconsonant  Western  prose  of  it  and  the 
absence  of  congruous  Japanese  melody,  will  write 
comparatively  of  it  that  in  it  (I  quote  a  critical 
sample)  "not  only  is  there  no  poetry,  but,  in  the 
employment  of  a  device  affording  unusual  oppor- 
tunities, there  is  no  original  thought,  no  philosophic 
comment  upon  life,  no  real  satire,  and  very  little 
humour."  Granting  that  all  this  may  be  quite  true, 
it  remains  that  there  is  an  equal  absence  of  poetry, 
original  thought,  philosophic  comment  upon  life, 
real  safire  and  humour  in  the  Japanese  plays  by 
Orientals.  The  notion  that  the  drama  of  Japan 
is  ever  a  drama  of  rare  fancy  and  lovely  word 
music  is  a  notion  ill-founded.  And  while  this, 
true  enough,  may  not  excuse  the  Occidental  when 
he  sets  himself  to  the  composition  of  a  Japanese 


56  COMEDIANS   ALL 

play,  it  is  yet  manifestly  unfair  to  register  against 
the  Occidental  the  complaint  that  his  play  misses 
something  in  the  real  Japanese  drama  that  the  real 
Japanese  drama  does  not  itself,  save  in  rare  in- 
stances, possess. 

A  careful  reading  of  the  plays  of  the  classical 
stage  of  Japan  {vide  Marie  Stopes'  "Plays  of  Old 
Japan";  Ezra  Pound's  notes  on  FenoUosa  and  the 
Noh;  etc.)  reveals  no  more  poetry,  as  you  will  dis- 
cover for  yourself,  than  the  American-Japanese 
play  "The  Willow  Tree."  (The  criticism  of  the 
latter  play  is  not  on  this  point,  but  rather  that 
it  professes  loudly  to  be  a  fantasy  of  the  Japan 
of  Heam  and  Loti  and  is  in  actuality  rather  a 
fantasy  of  the  Japan  of  Minnie  Ashley  and  Julia 
Sanderson,  of  Lionel  Monckton  and  Leslie  Stuart.) 
The  Occidental  playwrights  here  concerned  are 
less  deficient  in  the  matter  of  poetry  than  in  the 
matter  of  catching  the  spirit  of  the  Japanese 
dramaturgy.  For,  as  I  have  said,  a  survey  of 
such  things  as  "Sandaihagi,"  "Kayoi  Komachi," 
"Shojo,"  "Kumasaka"  and  the  like  discloses,  by 
way  of  beautiful  imagery,  by  way  of  musical  simile 
and  mellow  metaphor,  a  score  of  drab  tones  for 
one  such  wistful  and  dulcet  singing  as  "like  the 
bell  of  a  country  town  'neath  the  nightfall"  (Suma 
Genji),  a  score  and  more  of  flat  and  stereotyped 


THE    BIBLICAL    PLAY  57 

"they  are  piled  like  the  mountains"  (Tamura)  for 
one  such  bit  as  that  describing  the  withering  woman 
Ono  {Sotoba  Komachi),  "she  is  like  a  dull  moon 
that  fades  in  the  dawn's  grip."  So  far  as  philoso- 
phy is  concerned,  there  is  just  as  much  in  the  Oc- 
cidental "Willow  Tree"  as  you  will  encounter  in 
any  of  the  authentic  Japanese  plays.  And  if  there 
is  no  satire  or  humour  in  the  former,  I  assure  you 
there  is  even  less  in  the  latter. 

§  13 

The  Biblical  Play. — The  belief  that  the  more  the 
characters  in  a  Biblical  play  act  and  talk  like  under- 
takers the  more  reverential  that  play  is,  is  some- 
thing I  have  never  been  able  to  plumb.  The  surest 
way  in  which  to  destroy  the  unmatched  poetry  of 
the  Bible,  to  callous  the  message  it  heralds  and 
make  it  go  for  naught,  is  to  stage  it  with  actors  roll- 
ing their  eyes  to  the  gallery,  throwing  back  their 
hands  palms  upward  and  moaning  as  if  in  the 
throes  of  a  terrible  stomach-ache.  This  is  the 
Bible  in  terms  of  "Ingomar"  and  a  tank-town  per- 
formance of  "East  Lynne";  this,  reverence  in  terms 
of  a  Georgia  nigger  camp  meeting;  but  it  is  cer- 
tainly neither  in  terms  of  simple  beauty,  simple 
faith  and  simple  common  sense.     The  conventional 


58  COMEDIANS   ALL 

theatrical  notion  that  the  Bible  must  ever  be  read 
in  the  woe-is-me  tone  and  that  it  were  a  gross 
sacrilege  to  picture  the  good  Lord  God  as  speak- 
ing in  a  voice  not  exactly  like  the  coloratura  basso 
of  Mr.  James  O'Neill  or  some  other  such  Rialto 
ham  is  the  offspring  of  the  producers'  desire  to 
coddle  the  demands  of  clergymen,  church-wardens, 
Sunday  School  teachers  and  other  such  tender  in- 
telligences who  never  go  to  the  theatre  anyway. 

§  14 

The  Foremost  American  Producer. — He  is  a  fat, 
rosy  little  fellow  in  a  droll  double-breasted  over- 
coat that  makes  him  look  like  Hi  Holler  begauded 
for  a  Sunday  call  on  his  best  girl.  There  is  about 
him  always  the  suggestion  that  were  his  coat 
pockets  to  be  searched,  one  would  discover  in  each 
of  them  a  large  red  apple.  His  aspect  and  de- 
meanour are  generally  those  of  a  surly  small  boy 
whose  teacher  has  just  slapped  his  hand  for  laugh- 
ing out  loud.  When  perchance  this  mien  passes 
and  he  uncorks  a  guffaw,  the  detonation  is  like  the 
roar  of  the  shirt-sleeved  Irish  liohs  in  a  Wilson 
Barrett  play.  He  makes  himself  grand  with 
creamy-coloured  doeskin  gloves  which — if  I  have 
spotted  him  accurately — he  would  seem  not  to  re- 


AMERICAN   PRODUCER        59 

move  even  at  the  supper  table;  and  he  is  to  be 
beheld  riding  around  the  town  in  an  automobile  as 
bawdy  as  a  moving-picture  actor's.  Between  the 
acts  of  premier  performances  he  goes  out  and 
stands  alone  on  the  curb  and  diverts  himself  by 
aiming  expectorations  at  distant  holes  in  the  pave- 
ment. His  vanity  inspires  him  to  derby  hats  so 
rakishly  tight  that  when  he  takes  them  off  they 
leave  on  his  forehead  deep  and  apparently  pain- 
ful maroon  rings.  He  seems  seldom  to  open  his 
mouth  to  say  anything  and  what  he  does  say — so 
far  as  I  am  able  from  personal  observation  to  re- 
port— is  not  especially  interesting  nor  important. 
Where  he  comes  from  or  whither  he  is  going,  I 
haven't  the  faintest  notion — but  I  have  a  notion 
that  in  that  round  and  as-if  rural  pate  of  his  there 
are  at  this  moment  the  finest  ideals,  and  bravest 
ambitions,  and  most  vigorous  analytical  and  critical 
virtues  to  be  found  in  the  American  theatre. 

And  I  have  this  notion  for  all  his  periodic  pro- 
mulgation of  what  seem  to  me  personally  to  be  dull 
plays,  for  all  his  arch  practice  of  such  immemorial 
whimsies  as  the  averment  that  he  never  reads  the 
criticisms  of  his  work,  for  all  his  having  believed 
it  the  thing  to  invite  me  to  dinner  after  I  had  written 
a  highly  favourable  foreword  to  a  book  of  his, 
for  all  the  things  he  does  that  to  my  own  way  of 


60  COMEDIANS   ALL 

looking  at  the  theatre  are  not  the  right  things  to 
do.  And  why  have  I  this  notion  of  this  Arthur 
Hopkins?  I  have  it  because  never  once  so  far  in 
his  career  of  independent  production  has  he 
stooped  deliberately  to  a  cheap  and  shoddy  thing; 
because  his  aim,  whatever  his  score  as  I  see  it,  has 
always  been  the  aim  of  a  conscientious  artist;  be- 
cause in  pursuit  of  the  achievement  of  this  aim  he 
has  been  unwavering  and  has  courageously  taken 
many  a  hard  smash  between  the  eyes — some,  it 
seemed  to  me,  deserved  and  more  not  deserved; 
because  he  has  set  himself  the  goal  of  a  vital  drama 
vitally  staged  and  vitally  played  and  to  reach  that 
goal  has  sidestepped  many  an  obviously  inter- 
mediate and  tempting  bed  of  roses  with  a  stead- 
fastness and  determination  not  given  to  many  men 
in  his  nation. 

In  every  production  that  he  makes,  the  man's 
ideal  is  clearly  discernible — in  his  good  and  bad 
alike.  The  single  sound  stylist  of  our  theatre, 
there  is  in  the  plays  he  chooses  and  in  the  manner 
of  presentation  which  he  schemes  for  those  plays 
the  one  uniform  suspicion  of  accurate  form  that 
reaches  the  native  critical  ear.  By  no  means  al- 
ways so  effective  a  popular  producer  as,  say, 
Belasco,  his  sense  of  composition  is  yet  intrinsically 
of  a  threefold  artistic  integrity,  delicacy  and  sound- 


AMERICAN    PRODUCER        61 

ness.  This  precise  sense  of  composition,  true 
enough,  is  not  entirely  original  with  him:  it  has 
heen  borrowed  by  him  very  largely  from  Reinhardt. 
But  with  the  latter's  producing  technic  he  has 
adroitly  combined  the  tactical  practices  of  such  men 
as  Victor  Bamowski  and  has  filtered  what  he  has 
thus  appropriated  through  the  sieve  of  his  own  judg- 
ment and  personality.  The  result  has  vouchsafed 
to  us  some  of  the  finest  productions  of  the  present- 
day  American  stage  and — where  on  occasion  a  play 
and  his  technic  have  by  the  generic  nature  of  the 
play  made  noses  at  each  other — some  of  the  weak- 
est. But  good  or  bad,  the  effort  to  do  the  fine 
thing  at  the  expense  of  the  hokum  thing  is  ever 
apparent.  And  ever  apparent,  too,  are  the  effort 
at  beauty,  and  the  effort  at  something  just  a  trifle 
finer  than  the  next  man's  effort,  and  the  effort  to 
lift  the  American  play  and  the  American  stage 
above  the  level  of  the  crook  and  sleuth  and  German 
spy  jabberwock  on  the  one  hand  and  the  gilt  piano 
and  Chinese  sofa  and  Louis  XV  spit-jar  aesthetic 
on  the  other. 

I  often  wonder  where  Hopkins  gets  all  the  money 
to  do  the  things  he  does  after  the  conscientious  and 
cultivated  fashion  in  which  he  does  them.  If  he 
has  a  silent  partner,  I  should  like  to  know  the  man's 
name:  he  deserves  to  have  the  public  hear  of  him. 


62  COMEDIANS   ALL 

It  is  easy  enough  to  get  hold  of  a  man  to  back  a 
French  theatre  for  purposes  of  personal  social  ex- 
ploitation, or  to  get  hold  of  a  man  to  back  a  musical 
show  for  personal  physiological  purposes,  or  even 
occasionally  to  get  hold  of  a  man  to  back  a  first- 
rate  play  for  purposes  of  personal  puff  as  a  patron 
of  the  arts.  But  I  have  yet  to  hear — and  I  want 
to  hear — the  name  of  this  American  who  so  deeply 
and  honestly  loves  the  theatre  that  he  is  willing 
anonymously  to  hold  the  bag  for  any  number  of 
first-rate  plays  his  partner  desires  to  produce,  for 
any  number  of  first-rate  productions  his  partner  de- 
sires to  make  of  them,  and  for  any  number  of 
failures  that,  because  the  work  is  first-rate,  are 
bound  to  ensue.  But  this,  after  all,  may  be  said 
to  be  not  exactly  my  business. 

Hopkins  has  staged  Ibsen  in  the  main  more  in- 
telligently than  any  producer  before  whom  I  have 
sat.  And  my  poor  old  hinterspot  has  been  ad- 
justed into  chairs  before  all  sorts  of  Ibsen  produc- 
tions, big,  little  and  medium,  in  three  quarters  of 
the  comers  of  the  world.  He  is  at  the  present 
moment  the  one  single  producing  manager  in  the 
American  theatre  who  has  demonstrated  himself 
honestly  eager  to  get  hold  of  whatever  genuine 
playwriting  the  young  American  is  doing — or  is 
trying  to  do — and  who  is  honestly  eager  to  defend 


AMERICAN   PRODUCER        63 

his  faith  in  it,  and  who  is  honestly  eager  to  give 
it  a  fair  and  fighting  chance.  And  in  his  hope  and 
effort  to  do  this,  he  has  received  some  of  his 
sorest  bumps.  Clare  Kummer,  turned  down  right 
and  left,  came  to  Hopkins.  Eleanor  Gates  came  to 
him.  Moeller  came  to  him.  Rita  Wellman  came 
to  him.  Reizenstein  and  Mclntyre  and  Brown  and 
Housum  came  to  him.  And  other  youngsters  by 
the  score  come  regularly  to  him  as  they  might  come 
to  a  sympathetic  editor  or  publisher.  Some  of 
them  may  be — and  are — pretty  bad,  but  each  gets 
a  friendly  attention.  In  my  somewhat  peculiarly 
hybrid  office  of  dramatic  critic  and  magazine 
editor,  I  am  brought  into  almost  daily  touch  with 
that  portion  of  literary  young  America  whose  eyes 
are  directed  toward  the  theatre.  And  I  have  yet 
to  come  across  a  single  such  aspirant  who  wasn't 
hoping  to  pin  the  trust  of  his  future  to  Hopkins. 
And  some  of  these,  unless  I  am  greatly  mistaken, 
are  due  to  do  sound  work. 

Already  in  his  extremely  short  career,  Hopkins 
has  rescued  from  the  pigeon-hole  of  oblivion,  and 
has  produced,  the  best  and  most  imaginative 
dramatic  fantasy  ("The  Poor  Little  Rich  Girl") 
that  this  country  has  given  birth  to.  He  has 
rescued  from  this  same  pigeon-hole,  and  has  pro- 
duced, the  most  skilful  fantastic  farce    ("Good 


64  COMEDIANS   ALL 

Gracious  Annabelle")  and  the  most  adroitly  com- 
posed biographical  comedy  ("Madame  Sand")  and 
one  of  the  most  interesting  of  modem  North  Euro- 
pean dramas  ("The  Deluge")  and  the  most  promis- 
ing serious  play  come  from  an  American  hand  in 
the  last  four  or  five  years  ("The  Gentile  Wife"). 
He  is,  in  his  presentation  of  "The  Living  Corpse," 
the  first  to  have  brought  to  the  American  stage  the 
illuminating  method  followed  by  Reinhardt  in 
dramatic  production.  He  is  the  first  to  have 
brought  over  the  adjustable  proscenium  (em- 
ployed in  "Evangeline"),  the  first  producer  to  have 
devisedj  by  a  process  of  editing,  the  transportable 
pivotal  stage  (employed  in  "On  Trial"),  the  first 
to  have  brilliantly  adapted  to  his  needs  the  familiar 
so-called  sheet,  or  frontal  proscenium,  lighting  of 
Stanislawski  (employed  in  the  second  act  of  "The 
Gentile  Wife").  His  production  of  "A  Successful 
Calamity"  was  physically  the  suavest  production  of 
social  comedy  our  theatre  has  proffered.  His 
production  of  "La  Cefia  delle  Beffe,"  the  finest  in 
the  way  of  romantic  drama.  He  has,  with  Robert 
Edmond  Jones,  brought — not  in  one  production  but 
in  the  majority  of  his  productions — a  new  sim- 
plicity and  new  beauty  to  American  stage  decora- 
tive art,  and  for  the  first  time  a  harmony  of  dress 
and  scene.     He  has  brought  out  more  hitherto 


AMERICAN  PRODUCER  65 
buried  skill  among  young  professional  and  amateur 
actors  and  actresses  than  any  other  native  pro- 
ducer of  comparative  experience.  And  he  has  ex- 
plored many  of  these  players  out  of  the  wallows 
of  vaudeville  and  the  recesses  of  tyro  joints  and 
the  morasses  of  cheap  melodrama.  And,  while  do- 
ing all  this,  he  has,  of  course,  not  omitted  to  make 
more  than  his  full  share  of  mistakes,  more  than 
his  ample  portion  of  very  sour  cracks.  It  is  the 
easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  find  fault,  eloquently 
and  justly,  with  Hopkins,  but  then  it  is  always  easier 
to  find  fault  with  a  man  of  ideals  than  with  a  man 
without  them.  I  can  readily  pick  a  hundred  things 
wrong  with  Hopkins  where  I  find  difficulty  in  pick- 
ing one  wrong  with  Al  Reeves.  Hopkins  says  to 
me,  in  effect:  "I  am  trying  to  do  the  best  for  the 
theatre  that  I  know  how."  And  consequently  Hop- 
kins metaphorically  bends  himself  down  and 
presents  to  my  critical  toe  a  tempting  expanse  of 
rear  pant.  Reeves  frankly  says  to  me,  in  effect: 
"I'm  trying  to  do  the  worst  for  the  theatre  that  I 
know  how."  And  consequently  I  find  myself 
balked.  ...  It  is  easy  to  miss  the  bulFs-eye  if  the 
target  at  which  one  essays  to  shoot  is  twenty  times 
as  far  off  as  one's  neighbour's. 

The  producing  theory  of  Arthur  Hopkins,  if  I 
may  interpret  it  for  him — the  critic  at  his  best 


66  COMEDIANS   ALL 

is  merely  the  holder-up  of  a  mirror — is,  generally 
speaking,  very  simply  to  invest  naturalism  with  as 
much  the  quality  of  beauty  as  is  reasonably  to  be 
imagined  a  part  of  it.  A  rose  may  fall  from  the 
window  of  a  Pullman  and  light  upon  a  New  Jersey 
dunghill — a  Cossack  marching  off  to  war  may  carry 
in  a  locket  the  picture  of  his  baby  girl — through 
the  skylight  of  the  tenement  one  may  glimpse  the 
stars.  This  producing  theory,  made  by  Hopkins 
in  his  polysyllabic  essay  at  self-criticism  hight 
"How's  Your  Second  Act?"  to  take  on  a  very  pro- 
found and  esoteric  air,  is  actually  as  simple  as  roll- 
ing out  of  bed.  And  that,  of  course,  is  its  chief 
charm  and  the  reason  for  its  voltaism.  Hopkins' 
attempt  to  hocus-pocus  it  forth  in  his  book  as  akin 
to  a  black  art  of  one  kind  or  another  is  merely 
that  part  of  him  that  wears  the  creamy-coloured 
doeskin  gloves  and  rides  around  the  town  in  the 
peagreen  gasolene  bus.  But  taking  it  simply  for 
what  it  is,  his  theory  and  the  accomplishments  he 
has  wrought  from  it  mark  the  biggest  single  step 
forward  that  the  artistic  producing  theatre  of 
America  has  taken  in  the  last  decade. 

Here,  again,  however,  have  Hopkins  and  his  ef- 
forts been  met  with  many  a  face-making  from  the 
kind  of  critic  whose  finger  was  trained  by  President 
Lowell  to  thumb  his  nose  where  God  designed  that 


AMERICAN  PRODUCER  67 
it  should  only  pick  it.  In  Hopkins'  striving  to  give 
his  stage  a  grace,  a  style,  a  natural  ease  and  beauty, 
such  critics  have  seen  only  an  empty  pose,  only  a 
mumpsimus,  only  a  trying  to  do  something  different 
for  the  sake  of  its  being  different.  It  took  twelve 
long  years  for  two  of  the  greatest  theatrical  pro- 
ducers of  Continental  Europe  to  gain  first  the  at- 
tention, then  the  sympathy,  and  finally  the  warm 
and  hearty  approval  of  their  already  civilized 
critics  and  audiences  for  the  theory  that  it  is  con- 
ceivable that  an  actor  may  sometimes  properly 
speak  with  his  back  to  Mr.  Alan  Dale — and  Hop- 
kins has  fondly  hoped  to  turn  the  trick  with  the 
native  Indians  in  four!  But  for  all  the  yokel  hoots 
and  rebuffs,  he  is  sticking  to  the  guns  of  his  art 
and,  if  the  money  behind  him  holds  out,  he  will  in 
time  succeed  as  surely  as  they  in  Europe  have 
succeeded.  "Do  things  as  they  should  be  done," 
he  says  on  page  61  of  his  critical  autobiography, 
"and  let  the  results  take  care  of  themselves.  We 
are  not  merely  tired  people  with  trained  bears 
anxious  to  hear  the  rattle  of  pennies  in  tin 
cups.  .  .  ." 

There,  gentlemen,  sketchily,  is  your  Arthur  Hop- 
kins. He  is  no  "Master,"  no  "Wizard."  He  is 
just  a  young  fellow  with  a  dream,  who  fails  twice 
where  he  succeeds  once,  but  who  feels  and  knows 


68  COMEDIANS   ALL 

that  to  succeed  even  once,  bravely,  finely  and  with- 
out compromise,  is  worth  failing  fifty  times  for. 
He  has  had,  on  several  occasions,  no  harder  critic 
than  I — and  he  will  continue  to  have  no  harder — 
but  even  on  such  several  occasions  I  have  felt,  as 
I  shall  doubtless  continue  to  feel,  the  pull  of  an 
uncritical  prejudice  for  a  man  who — as  Mencken 
has  written  in  another  direction  of  James  Branch 
Cabell — is  so  largely  thrown  back  upon  his  work 
for  his  recompense ;  who  has  tried  to  produce  soimd 
and  beautiful  plays  and  to  get  upon  the  stage  the 
point  of  view  of  a  civilized  man;  and  who,  having 
succeeded  at  the  business  perhaps  better  than  any 
other  who  has  made  the  same  trial,  though  he  re- 
mains still  poor  in  actual  worldly  return,  holds  this 
success  a  sufficient  reward  for  a  self-respecting 
artist. 

§  15 

On  Sentimentality. — ^Why  it  is  that  we  Ameri- 
cans, a  nation  of  sentimentalists,  should  demand 
sentimentality  in  our  theatre  is  not  easy  of  de- 
cipherment. The  one  fact  does  not  dovetail  with 
the  other  so  closely  as  some  believe.  The  theatre, 
first  and  last,  is  a  harbour  of  diversion.  Like  can- 
not divert  like.  An  egoist  hates  an  egoist.  A 
man's  sweetheart  does  not  look  like  his  wife.     A 


THE   BIOGRAPHICAL   PLAY       69 

restaurant  with  home-cooking  would  fail  in  a  week. 
A  soldier,  on  furlough,  does  not  spend  his  time  in 
a  shooting  gallery.  .  .  .  The  French,  a  nation  as 
sentimental  as  we,  patronize  most  liberally  plays 
that  are  the  reverse  of  sentimental.  The  Germans, 
an  unsentimental  nation,  cry  copiously  into  their 
Pschorrbrau  when  a  madl  in  a  cabaret  hits  the 
quiver  note  in  a  barber-shop  melody  like  "Pupp- 
chen."  .  .  . 

§  16 

The  Biographical  Play. — The  biographical  play 
is  probably  of  all  plays  the  easiest  to  write  well, 
since  the  playwright's  philosophy  and  wit,  attack 
and  resolution,  characters  and  characterizations, 
lay  already  full-blown  before  him  and  require  but 
the  not  difficult  manipulation  of  theatrical  wires 
to  set  them  to  dancing.  Such  dramatic  composi- 
tion, however,  always  impresses  persons  pro- 
foundly. Yet  it  is  a  more  simple  thing,  I  venture, 
to  write  a  play  like  "Madame  Sand"  (for  all  that  it 
approaches  to  the  first-rate  in  its  field)  than  to  write 
a  tenth-rate  play  like  "Up  In  Mabel's  Room." 

§  17 

The  Repertory  System. — The  best  argument 
against  the  repertory  system  is  that  it  elevates  the 


70  COMEDIANS   ALL 

actor  over  the  play.  It  asks  us  at  regular  intervals 
to  view  not  a  play  interpreted  by  a  group  of  actors, 
but  a  group  of  actors  interpreted  by  a  play.  The 
repertory  system  thus  fails  in  the  same  way  that  the 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  athletic  system  fails.  It  strengthens 
the  anatomy  at  the  expense  of  the  soul. 

§  18 

Belasco. — The  criticism  commonly  peddled 
against  David  Belasco  to  the  effect  that  he  is  sadly 
content  to  devote  his  virtuosity  to  the  mere  further 
begauding  and  merchanting  of  the  established 
hokums  of  the  theatre  is  like  most  of  the  Belasco 
criticism,  whether  pro  or  con,  unwarrantable  and 
stupid.  Whatever  may  be  Mr.  Belasco's  short- 
comings, the  easy  practice  of  tried  hokums  is  cer- 
tainly not  one  of  them.  For  the  Belasco  talent, 
quite  other  than  being  a  mere  slick  exposition  of 
such  tried  and  true  hokums,  is  actually  a  talent — 
doubtless  the  most  exceptional  talent  in  the  native 
theatre — for  painstakingly  nursing  to  life  theatrical 
devices  that  by  all  the  rules  should  have  been  and 
should  be  tried  and  true  hokums,  but  devices  that 
mishandling  on  the  part  of  other  playmakers  and 
producers  has  caused  to  go  for  naught.  It  is  in 
this  business  of  drawing  the  hokum  essence  out 


BELASCO  71 

of  hokums  the  hokum  juices  of  which  have  previ- 
ously eluded  his  confreres,  that  Mr.  Belasco  excels. 
This  is  plainly  to  be  detected  in  the  Belasco  trick 
of  turning  failures,  whose  intrinsic  hokums  were 
left  by  playmakers  and  producers  to  lie  dormant, 
into  hokum-lively  successes.  There  was  just  as 
much  hokum  at  the  bottom  of  Edgar  Selwyn's 
failure,  "Pierre  of  the  Plains,"  as  there  is  in  Mr. 
Belasco's  success,  "Tiger  Rose," — but  Mr.  Selwyn 
didn't  know  how  to  pop  it.  "Tiger  Rose"  is  merely 
a  successful  version  of  "Pierre  of  the  Plains,"  just 
as  Belasco's  "Peter  Grimm"  was  merely  a  success- 
ful version  of  Cora  Maynard's  failure,  "The 
Watcher,"  and  as  Belasco's  "Daddies"  is  merely 
a  successful  compound  of  Francis  Wilson's  failure, 
"The  Bachelor's  Baby,"  and  H.  V.  Esmond's  fail- 
ure,  "Eliza  Comes  to  Stay." 

In  this  "Daddies,"  the  Belasco  hokum  nursery 
is  to  be  appraised  with  an  especial  pregnancy. 
Every  device  that  failed  to  register  in  the  Francis 
Wilson  play,  and  every  device  that  failed  equally 
of  effect  in  the  Esmond  play,  Mr.  Belasco  has  here 
carefully  poulticed  and  hot-water-bagged  and  pilled 
into  commercial  robustness.  Stratagems  that  in  the 
two  failures  had  all  the  earmarks  of  healthy  hokum 
but  that  suffered  from  directing  cramps  have  been 
taken  over,  rolled  vigorously  across  a  barrel,  had 


72  COMEDIANS   ALL 

their  Little  Marys  massaged  and  their  toes  wiggled, 
until  the  Belasco  osteopathy  has  put  them  firmly 
upon  their  legs.  And  the  result,  of  course,  is  one 
of  the  usual  Belasco  money-makers  which,  while 
characteristically  of  an  utter  literary  and  artistic 
worthlessness,  is  still  an  equally  characteristic 
Belasco  caesarian  sure-fire  operation. 

§  19 

On  Banality. — There  is  room  for  banality  in  the 
theatre.  It  is  less  a  thing  for  critical  groan  and 
frown  than  one  is  often  persuaded  to  believe.  The 
theatre  is  an  institution  wherein  one  seeks  sanctuary 
from  the  furors  and  stressful  inconstancy  of  life, 
wherein  one  may  sit  before  the  doings  of  a  mock 
world  and  sigh  oneself  into  a  pleasurable  tem- 
porary forgetfulness  and  reverie.  Life  itself,  and 
the  outside  world,  thrill  and  torment  the  individual 
with  their  ceaseless  changes  and  mist  enwrapt  ad- 
ventures and  somnabulisms — a  shifting  panorama 
of  art,  loves,  business,  coincidences,  triumphs,  de- 
feats, fears  and  hopes.  From  all  this  the  theatre 
offers  a  refuge.  And  that  refuge  may,  obviously 
enough,  be  had  only  in  spectacles  of  an  antithetical 
dulness,  flatness  and  stupidity. 

One  may  amuse  and  divert  oneself  only  by  more 


MODERN  FRENCH  DRAMA  73 
or  less  violent  contrasts.  Napoleon,  after  the 
battle  of  Abukir,  forgot  himself  in  watching  a  cock 
fight. 

§  20 

The  Modern  French  Drama. — The  modern 
French  play  as  represented,  among  others,  by 
Bataille  and  Bernstein,  remains  a  triumph  of 
technical  skill  over  drama.  Disclosing  an  excep- 
tional hand  for  the  technique  beloved  of  the  pro- 
fessors, these  pieces,  for  all  the  passion  of  their 
content,  leave  the  beholder  cold.  Spectator  at  one 
of  them,  one  is  in  the  mood  of  the  outcast  who 
stands  shivering  in  the  snow  looking  through  the 
window  of  a  room  wherein  burns  alluringly  a  hot 
grate  fire.  It  is  a  favourite  practice  of  the  pro- 
fessors to  blame  this  chill  not  upon  the  overly 
meticulous  technique,  but  upon  the  theory  that  the 
Anglo-Saxon  is  intrinsically  alien  to  the  meta- 
physics and  emotions  of  the  Gallic  text  and  hence 
unable  to  comprehend  and  sympathize  with  the 
thoughts  and  actions  of  its  characters.  This,  of 
course,  is  for  the  most  part  absurd.  The  Anglo- 
Saxon,  whatever  his  antecedents,  is  today  certainly 
no  more  ulterior  to  the  Gallic  processes  of  thought 
and  act  than  he  is  to  the  Teutonic,  yet  the  latter 
drama,  as  typified  by  such  not  far  removed  writers 


74  COMEDIANS   ALL 

as  Sudermann,  is  easily  comprehensible  to  him,  as 
are  its  characters  and  the  thoughts  and  actions  of 
those  characters.  If,  indeed,  the  American  can- 
not encompass  the  philosophy  of  passion  as  it  is 
expounded  in  the  French  drama  of  Bataille,  Bern- 
stein, et  al.,  how  comes  it,  on  the  other  hand,  that 
he  is  able  to  grasp  it  as  it  is  expounded  in  the 
French  drama  of  de  Caillavet  and  de  Flers, 
Tristan  Bernard,  Capus,  et  al.?  Whether  in  the  at- 
titude of  farce  or  in  the  attitude  of  the  so-called 
problem  play,  the  fibre  of  this  philosophy  is,  at 
bottom,  the  same.  If  an  alien  can  comprehend  the 
French  way  of  taking  passion  lightly,  why  can  he 
not  comprehend  the  French  way  of  taking  it  seri- 
ously? The  divergence  from  the  American  ap- 
proach to  the  subject  is  in  each  case  equally  broad. 
The  truth,  of  course,  is  that  this  has  nothing  to 
do  with  the  successlessness  in  America  of  the 
serious  French  drama.  Generally  speaking,  this 
type  of  Gallic  drama  fails  in  America  not  so  much 
because  of  its  subject  matter  as  because  that  sub- 
ject matter  is  treated  to  a  technique  so  rigid,  so 
extravagantly  corseted  and  so  unremittingly 
metronome-like  that  the  evening  is  deleted  of  all 
those  qualities  of  grace  and  ease,  of  flexibility  and 
digression,  that  go  to  make  the  quality  known 
locally  as  "theatre,"  and  in  their  absence  substi- 


MODERN  FRENCH  DRAMA  75 
tute  the  smell  of  the  drama  course  lecture  room 
for  the  smell  of  the  "show."  Like  the  sight  of  a 
woman  wearing  velvet  in  the  early  morning,  this 
drama  attracts  the  attention,  true  enough,  but  at 
the  same  time  induces  in  one  a  sense  of  aesthetic 
nausea.  The  Anglo-Saxon  success  of  such  so- 
called  serious  Gallic  plays  as  "Camille"  and 
"Zaza"  has  undoubtedly  been  due  to  their  less 
formal  technical  manner,  to  their  comparative 
warmth,  in  short,  to  their  technical  crudities. 
Some  such  more  recent  play  as  Bataille's  "Les 
Flambeaux,"  on  the  other  hand,  tells  an  interest- 
ing story  with  a  great  feeling  for  dramatic 
technique  and  small  feeling  for  theatrical  tech- 
nique. And  some  such  one  as  Bernstein's  "L'Ele- 
vation"  suffers  from  the  same  shortcoming.  Both 
put  one  in  mind  of  a  college  professor  endeavour- 
ing to  tell  a  story  at  a  Seeley  dinner.  The  story 
is  good  enough,  and  the  telling  of  the  story  is  well 
thought  out;  but  the  effect  is  as  nil.  The  teller 
and  the  place  of  telling  are  not  in  harmony. 

Against  plays  of  this  kidney,  we  have  the  more 
authentic  feeling  for  the  cosmopolitan  theatre  as 
instanced  in  the  case  of  the  Caillavet-Flers  "Le 
Roi."  In  such  things,  the  French  writer  is  at  his 
best.  His,  then,  all  the  sharp  nonchalance  and 
sagacity  that  secede   from  him  when  his  brows 


76  COMEDIANS    ALL 

wrinkle.  French  farce  of  this  school  is  genuinely 
merry  stuff — not  the  French  farce  more  generally 
known  as  such  in  the  Broadway  playhouses,  the 
machine-made  stuff  of  Soulie,  Veber,  Nanteuil, 
Faveme,  Nancey  and  Armont  and  that  lot — but 
French  farce  as  represented  by  the  collaborators 
upon  the  piece  in  point,  and  by  such  witty  fellows 
as  the  admirable  Feydeau,  Sacha  Guitry,  Rip  and 
Bousquet  and  Romain  Coolus. 

§  21 

Harry  Watson,  Jr. — That  Mr.  Harry  Watson, 
Jr.,  is  one  of  the  finest  comic  artists  of  the  Ameri- 
can stage  is  demonstrated  anew  with  each  succes- 
sive year.  An  alumnus  of  the  same  burlesque 
troupe  that  graduated  that  other  excellent  comed  an, 
Mr.  George  Bickel,  Watson's  authentic  talents,  like 
those  of  his  colleague,  have  long  been  overlooked 
— or  if  not  entirely  overlooked,  greatly  disparaged 
— by  annalists  of  the  stage  who  vouchsafe  to  low 
comedy  merely  a  casual  and  then  grudged  atten- 
tion. Yet  the  fact  doubtless  remains  that  this  Wat- 
son is  an  actor  of  uncommon  quality,  not  a  mere 
slapstick  pantaloon,  an  assaulter  of  trousers'  seats, 
a  professor  of  the  bladder,  but  a  mimic  of  excep- 
tional capacity,  a  pantomimist  of  the  very  first 


HARRY   WATSON,    JR.  77 

grade  and  a  comedian  of  real  histrionic  parts. 
Watson's  depiction  of  the  tenth-rate  prize  fighter, 
with  its  suggestion  not  simply  of  such  obvious  ex- 
ternals as  speech,  walk,  et  cetera,  but  with  its  subtle 
revelation  of  the  pug's  mind,  thoughts  and  general 
singularities,  is  as  admirable  a  bit  of  acting  as 
the  native  stage  has  conceded  in  years.  The  thing 
is  searching,  vivid,  brilliant;  it  measures  with  the 
best  work,  in  more  exalted  dramatic  regions,  of 
such  capable  actors  as  Arnold  Daly  or  the  late 
Robert  Fischer  or  Ditrichstein.  To  see  it  is  to 
look  into  the  soul  of  the  cheap  bruiser  as  that 
soul  has  rarely  been  transcribed  to  paper.  The 
half -droop  of  the  one  eye,  the  intermittent  Maude 
Adams  toss  of  the  neck,  the  setting  of  the  far  right 
tooth,  the  disdain  of  the  lip,  the  nervous  knee — 
these  Watson  negotiates  with  a  diplomacy  as  far 
removed  from  the  usual  and  patent  tactic  as  his 
negotiation  of  the  portrayal  of  the  telephoning 
commuter  is  removed  from  the  level  of  the  vaude- 
villes. 

For  some  reason  or  other,  the  work  of  such 
comedians  as  Watson  is  held  generally  in  artistic 
and  critical  disesteem.  Why,  God  and  the  Eve- 
ning Post  alone  know.  For  among  these  come- 
dians one  finds  a  sensitiveness,  an  eye  to  human 
nature  and  a  schooling  in  projection  that  one  en- 


78  COMEDIANS   ALL 

counters  with  extreme  rarity  on  the  dramatic  stage. 
The  scorn  these  fellows  suffer  is  part  of  our  na- 
tive theatrical  snobbery.  In  England,  George 
Robey  is  recognized  for  the  artist  he  is;  in  France, 
Germain  and  others  like  him  have  received  their 
portion.  But  in  our  country  the  actor  is  rated  not 
so  much  according  to  his  intrinsic  ability  as  accord- 
ing to  the  ability  of  the  playwright  who  supplies 
his  roles.  And  yet  such  a  comedian  as  Bickel  re- 
mains at  bottom  a  more  susceptive  and  penetrating 
comic  artist  than  any  half  dozen  Leo  Carrillos, 
and  such  a  comedian  as  this  Watson  a  more  strik- 
ing adventurer  in  the  gallery  of  human  nature  and 
its  portrayal  than  any  double  dozen  of  Russ 
Whytals,  Robert  Edesons,  Richard  Bennetts  and 
Howard  Kyles. 

§  22 

Brander  Matthews. — In  a  uniformly  entertain- 
ing, if  uniformly  inaccurate,  lecture  before  the  stu- 
dents of  Barnard  College,  Professor  Brander  Mat- 
thews not  long  ago  brewed  the  following  up-to-the- 
minute  philosophies: 

"Just  as  grammar  has  its  conventions,"  observed  the 
Professor,  "so  the  drama,  too,  has  its  conventions.  In 
Japanese  tragedy  each  performer  has  a  (supposedly) 
invisible  attendant  clad  in  black.     They  hand  a  fan. 


BRANDER   MATTHEWS         79 

lift  a  cloak — and  by  the  middle  of  the  play  you  do 
not  see  them.  The  Mexicans  always  have  the  devil 
dressed  in  a  United  States  Cavalry  officer's  uniform.  Is 
this  any  more  peculiar  than,  as  I  have  seen  in  Irving's 
productions,  buildings  coming  down  from  the  sky  and  set- 
tle down  on  the  stage  for  a  change  of  scene  during  an  act? 
Certain  conventions  are  necessary,  but  some  are  non- 
essential, and  these  the  new  scenery  is  trying  to  do  away 
with.  There  are  conventions  also  of  costume — it  took 
Sir  Walter  Scott  to  remove  the  tall  ostrich  plumes  from 
Kemble,  playing  Macbeth,  and  replace  them  with  a 
single  plume.  But  there  are  some  inescapable  conven- 
tions. You  always  expect  to  leave  the  theatre  in  two 
hours  and  a  half.  Playwrights,  therefore,  always  con- 
dense. The  characters  say  just  the  right  things  in  the 
right  order,  which  is  absolutely  untrue  to  life.  More- 
over, every  character  always  understands  everything  the 
first  time  it  is  said!  The  convention  of  condensation 
leads  to  that  of  wit,  where  every  one  is  as  witty  as  the 
author.  Take  the  convention  of  Shakespeare,  where 
every  character  speaks  blank  verse.  This  would  not  be 
so  in  life!" 

Let  us  present  the  Professor  with  an  examina- 
tion paper  on  these  announced  conventions  of  the 
drama.  And,  at  the  same  time,  with  a  convenient 
"crib." 

First  Professorial  Convention:  "In  Japanese 
tragedy,  each  performer  has  a   (supposedly)   in- 


80  COMEDIANS   ALL 

visible  attendant  clad  in  black.  They  hand  a  fan, 
lift  a  cloak — and  by  the  middle  of  the  play  you  do 
not  see  them." 

Question:  Is  it  true,  or  is  it  not  true,  that  the 
Japanese  stage  has  to  a  large  extent  sometime  since 
abandoned  this  convention? 

Answer:     It  is  true. 

Second  Professorial  Convention:  "The  Mex- 
icans always  have  the  devil  dressed  in  a  United 
States  Cavalry  officer's  uniform." 

Question:  Name  more  than  one  or  two  plays 
in  which  the  Mexicans  have  presented  the  devil  in 
such  guise. 

Answer:  The  circumstance  that  the  Mexicans 
have  once,  or  twice — or  even  three  times — pre- 
sented the  devil  as  a  United  States  Cavalry  of- 
ficer makes  the  dido  a  convention  of  the  Mexican 
stage  no  more  than  the  circumstance  that  the  Amer- 
icans have  once,  or  twice — or  even  three  times — 
presented  the  Italian  as  a  white-slaver  makes  it  a 
convention  of  the  American  stage  that  Italians  must 
always  be  presented  as  white-slavers. 

Third  Professorial  Convention:  "Is  this  any 
more  peculiar  than,  as  I  have  seen  in  Irving's  pro- 
ductions, buildings  coming  down   from  the  sky 


BRANDER  MATTHEWS  81 
and  settle  down  on  the  stage  for  a  change  of  scene 
during  the  act?  Certain  conventions  are  neces- 
sary, and  some  are  non-essential,  and  these  the  new 
scenery  is  trying  to  do  away  with." 

Question:     See  above. 

Answer:  The  visible  descent  of  scenery  from 
the  flies  was  due  to  no  scenic  convention,  but 
merely  to  bad  lighting  arrangements.  The  new 
scenery  is  often  lowered  into  place  from  the  flies 
just  as  was  the  old  scenery. 

Fourth  Professorial  Convention:  "There  are 
conventions  also  of  costume — it  took  Sir  Walter 
Scott  to  remove  the  tall  ostrich  plumes  from  Kem- 
ble,  playing  Macbeth,  and  replace  them  with  a 
single  plume." 

Question:  Was  it  an  invariable  and  absolute 
convention  to  play  Macbeth  with  tall  ostrich  plumes 
or  was  not  this  merely  an  idiosyncrasy  of  Kem- 
ble? 

Answer:  It  was  no  more  an  invariable  and 
absolute  convention  to  play  Macbeth  with  tall 
ostrich  plumes  in  Kemble's  time  simply  because 
Kemble  so  played  Macbeth,  than  it  is  a  convention 
to  play  Macbeth  with  a  St.  Louis  round  haircut  in 
James  K.  Hackett's  current  time  simply  because 
James  K.  Hackett  so  plays  Macbeth. 


82  COMEDIANS   ALL 

Fifth  Professorial  Convention:  "But  there  are 
always  some  inescapable  conventions.  You  al- 
ways expect  to  leave  the  theatre  in  two  hours  and 
a  half.  Playwrights,  therefore,  always  condense. 
The  characters  say  just  the  right  things  in  the  right 
order,  which  is  absolutely  untrue  to  life." 

Question:     Is  this  absolutely  untrue  to  life? 

Answer:  No,  this  is  not  absolutely  untrue  to 
life.  For  example,  many  conversations  in  actual 
life  between  (1)  two  diplomatists,  (2)  a  good  news- 
paper reporter  and,  say,  a  sharp  politician  or 
lawyer,  (3)  the  hostess  and  her  guests  at  a  formal 
dinner,  (4)  a  military  officer  and  his  aide.  Or  a 
conversation  on  a  definite  subject — as  in  dramatic 
dialogue — between  some  such  actual  persons  as, 
say,  Frank  Harris  and  Shaw,  or  Huneker  and 
Richard  Strauss,  or  even  Browning  and  King. 
The  notion  that  conversations  in  actual  life  are 
invariably  full  of  stutterings,  evasions,  you-don't- 
means,  hem's  and  er's  is  of  a  piece  with  the  no- 
tion, held  by  the  same  theorists,  that  an  expensive 
cigar  is  always  stronger  than  a  cheap  cigar  and  that 
an  intelligent  prize-fighter  is  more  likely  to  win  a 
ring  battle  than  a  first-rate  bonehead.  Further, 
equally  erroneous  is  the  theory  that  in  drama  the 
characters  always  say  just  the  right  things  in  the 
right  order.     More  often,  of  course,  are  they  made 


BRANDER  MATTHEWS  83 
by  the  playwright  arbitrarily  to  say  just  the  wrong 
things  in  the  right  order  that  the  consequent  be- 
fuddlement  may  institute  and  prolong  the  mis- 
understandings, et  cetera,  essential  to  the  dramatic 
action.  Examples  are  at  once  obvious  and  plenti- 
ful, and  range  all  the  way  from  Hauptmann's  "Be- 
fore Sunrise"  to  Richard  Harding  Davis'  "The 
Galloper."  If  the  Professor  refers  to  the  direct 
and  consistently  relevant  dialogue  of  a  play  in  its 
relation  to  the  telling  of  a  single  and  definite  dra- 
matic story,  he  is  equally  in  error  when  he  observes 
it  to  be  in  striking  opposition  to  actuality.  What 
play  written  in  recent  years  has  developed  a  story 
more  directly  than  was  developed  in  actual  life 
the  story,  say,  of  the  recent  Grace  Lusk  murder 
case?  To  argue  that  the  story  of  this  case,  if 
turned  to  the  purposes  of  the  stage,  would  never- 
theless be  boiled  down  and  reduced  to  two  and 
one-half  hours  is  to  argue  that  one  may  read  Ar- 
nold Bennett's  Clayhanger  series  in  two  and  one- 
half  hours  if  one  only  skips  the  "descriptions." 

Sixth  Professorial  Convention:  "Moreover, 
every  character  always  understands  everything  the 
first  time  it  is  said!" 

Question:     Is  this  even  half-way  true? 

Answer:     No. 


84  COMEDIANS   ALL 

Supplementary  answer:  If  by  "understand" 
you  mean  "thoroughly  comprehend,"  there  are  con- 
tradictory instances  to  be  found  in  hundreds  of 
plays.  A  few  examples:  "The  Poor  Little  Rich 
Girl,"  Schnitzler's  "The  Hour  of  Recognition," 
Perez-Glados'  "Duchess  of  San  Quentin,"  Sutro's 
"The  Two  Virtues,"  Mitchell's  "The  New  York 
Idea,"  etc.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  by  "understand" 
you  mean  merely  that  the  ear  of  this  character 
always  catches  what  that  character  says  the  first 
time  he  says  it — a  more  likely  interpretation — 
there  are  contradictory  instances  also  to  be  found 
in  hundreds  of  plays.  A  few  examples: 
"Grumpy,"  "The  Professor's  Love  Story,"  "The 
Gay  Lord  Quex,"  "Letty,"  etc. 

Seventh  Professorial  Convention:  "The  con- 
vention of  condensation  leads  to  that  of  wit,  where 
everyone  is  as  witty  as  the  author." 

Question:     Is  this  even  one-third  true? 

Answer:  No.  The  author  more  often  makes 
all  of  his  characters,  save  one,  dolts  or  semi-dolts, 
that  his  wit,  placed  in  the  mouth  of  the  one  char- 
acter, may  appear  by  contrast  to  be  of  an  excep- 
tional quality.  A  few  examples:  Chesterton  and 
the  character  of  the  Stranger  in  "Magic,"  Shaw 
and  the  character  of  Tanner  in  "Man  and  Super- 


BRANDER  MATTHEWS  85 
man,"  Bahr  and  the  character  of  Esch  in  "Prin- 
ciple," Schnitzler  and  the  character  of  Bemhardi 
in  "Professor  Bemhardi,"  Wedekind  and  the  char- 
acter of  Hetmann  in  "Hidalla,"  Capus  and  the  char- 
acter of  Mme.  Joulin  in  "The  Two  Schools," 
Tchekov  and  the  character  of  Trigorin  in  "The 
Seagull,"  etc. 

Eighth  Professorial  Convention:  "Take  the 
convention  of  Shakespeare,  where  every  character 
speaks  blank  verse.     This  would  not  be  so  in  life!" 

Well,  credit  where  credit  is  due.  Let  us  admit 
that  here  the  distinguished  Professor  negotiates  a 
real  torpedo!  For  five  solid  minutes  I  have  tried 
to  think  of  someone  who  in  actual  life  speaks  al- 
ways in  blank  verse,  and,  by  all  the  gods,  I  con- 
fess it  freely,  I'm  stuck!  But  perhaps  only  tem- 
porarily. Something  tells  me,  has  long  told  me 
— that  is  to  say,  I  have  a  suspicion — indeed  more 
than  a  suspicion,  a  definite  feeling — that  the  Pro- 
fessor himself.  .  .  . 

§  23 

The  American  Dramatic  Criticism. — Dramatic 
criticism  in  America,  estimating  it  by  and  large, 
falls  currently  into  either  one  of  two  classifications, 


86  COMEDIANS   ALL 

each  classification  being  in  turn  subdivisible  into 
three  further  classifications. 

The  first  classification  is  what  may  be  called  the 
college  professor  dramatic  criticism.  The  three 
subdivisions  of  this  classification  are  (1)  the  col- 
lege professor  dramatic  criticism  which  maintains 
that  dramatic  art  and  morals  are  inseparable;  (2) 
the  college  professor  dramatic  criticism  which 
maintains  that  dramatic  art  and  the  structural 
technic  of  Augier,  Sardou,  et  al.,  are  inseparable; 
and  (3)  the  college  professor  dramatic  criticism 
which  maintains  that  dramatic  art  and  validity  and 
integrity  of  thematic  idea  are  inseparable. 

The  second  classification  is  the  newspaper  dra- 
matic criticism.  The  three  subdivisions  of  this 
classification  are  (1)  the  journalistic  dramatic  criti- 
cism which  maintains  that  dramatic  art  and  morals 
are  inseparable;  (2)  the  journalistic  dramatic  criti- 
cism which  maintains  that  a  drama  is  a  meritorious 
drama  in  the  degree  that  it  impudently  breaks  away 
from  the  accepted  technical  traditions  of  Augier, 
Sardou,  et  al.,  and  (3)  the  journalistic  dramatic 
criticism  which  maintains  that  a  play  is  a  good 
play  in  proportion  as  the  so-called  "message"  or 
propaganda  of  that  play  is  an  opportune  one. 

Let  us  consider  the  theories  and  practices  of 
each  of  these  representative  schools  in  turn. 


DRAMATIC  CRITICISM  87 
First,  under  the  college  professor  school  of  criti- 
cism— ^the  school  of  such  as  the  Professors  Brander 
Matthews,  Richard  Burton,  et  al. — the  theory  that 
dramatic  art  and  morals  are  inseparable.  Under 
this  theory  of  the  inevitable  matrimony  of  art  and 
morals,  we  find — ^what?  The  unintentional  and 
obviously  preposterous  contention  that,  since  morals 
are  often  geographical,  dramatic  art  similarly  must 
often  be  geographical.  Thus,  since  the  college  pro- 
fessor school  of  criticism  holds,  from  the  American 
point  of  view,  that  a  justification  of  adultery  is 
under  all  circumstances  immoral  where  the  French 
point  of  view  holds  the  reverse,  its  criticism — obey- 
ing this  localized  attitude — must  necessarily  hold 
a  play  like  Henry  Bernstein's  "L'Elevation," 
which  justifies  adultery,  a  work  of  dramatic  art 
relatively  and  distinctly  inferior  to  a  play  like 
Edwin  Milton  Royle's  "The  Unwritten  Law,"  which 
condemns  adultery.  What  is  art  to  a  Frenchman 
is  not  always  art  to  an  American.  This,  the  crit- 
ical standard  of  the  professor.  Art,  to  the  latter, 
is  a  thing  sectional — like  baseball,  gondola  push- 
ing or  throwing  girl  babies  to  the  alligators.  A 
fine  drama,  like  a  fine  piece  of  sculpture  or  a  fine 
piece  of  music  or  a  fine  painting,  may  not  possess 
universality.  Thus,  in  this  first  theory,  we  have 
the  criticism  of  the  Puritan,  the  chief  exponent  of 


88  COMEDIANS   ALL 

which  and  the  father  of  which  in  America  was  that 
college  professor  on  an  unending  Sabbatical  year, 
the  late  Mr.  William  Winter. 

Second,  the  college  professor  school  of  criticism 
which  maintains  that  dramatic  art  and  the  play- 
building  technic  of  Augier  and  Sardou  are  insepar- 
able. This,  the  school  that  elevates  the  stereotyped 
drama  of  Henry  Arthur  Jones  and  Augustus 
Thomas  above  the  independently  imagined  drama 
of  Shaw,  Andreyev,  Hauptmann,  and  Galsworthy: 
that  apotheosizes  "The  Silver  King"  over  "The  Sil- 
ver Box"  and  "The  Model"  over  "Caesar  and  Cleo- 
patra." To  this  critical  school  the  inanimate  archi- 
tecture of  a  house  is  ever  of  more  importance  than 
the  animate  persons  who  live  in  the  house.  It 
gauges  a  man's  condition  by  looking  at  the  set-up 
of  his  body,  never  by  investigating  carefully  his 
lungs,  heart  and  bowels.  It  is,  in  a  word,  the  the- 
ory of  pigeon-holes  brought  to  literature,  the  busi- 
ness of  pasting  old  labels  on  new  bottles,  the  blind 
effort  to  make  the  modem  davenport  adhere  to  the 
standards  of  the  ancient  horse-hair  sofa. 

And  third,  the  college  professor  school  of  criti- 
cism which  maintains  that  dramatic  art  and  valid- 
ity and  integrity  of  thematic  idea  are  inseparable. 
Here  we  engage  a  critical  ethic  that,  stripping  it 
to  the  bone,  would  ask  us  believe  that  art  and  fact 


DRAMATIC    CRITICISM       89 

are  indissoluble,  that  no  man  may  work  out  a 
beautiful  tapestry  from  a  premise  unsupported  by 
the  Magna  Charta,  the  law  of  gravity  and  the  Mann 
Act.  At  one  swoop  are  thus  devoured  the  Haupt- 
manns  of  "Before  Sunrise"  {vide  Professor  Frank 
Wadleigh  Chandler,  of  the  University  of  Cincin- 
nati, opus  I,  pg.  36)  and  the  Pineros  of  "The 
Thunderbolt"  {vide  Professor  Charlton  Andrews 
of  the  State  Normal  School,  Valley  City,  N.  D., 
opus  III,  pg.  120).  At  one  swoop  are  thus 
chewed  to  artistic  death  the  great  artists  who  are 
guilty  of  treating  only  "an  incomplete  section  of 
life"  ^  as  opposed  to  those  who,  like  Mr,  Max 
Marcin  in  "Cheating  Cheaters,"  treat  of  the  whole 
majestic  panorama,  and  the  great  dramatists  who 
are  guilty  of  "weak  and,  though  reasoned,  unreason- 
able logic"  ^  as  opposed  to  those  who,  like  Mr. 
George  Hobart  in  "Experience,"  are  as  persist- 
ently and  desperately  logical  as  a  lesson  in  ele- 
mentary addition. 

So  much,  for  the  moment,  for  this  first  of  our 
two  critical  academies.  Now  for  the  second,  the 
school  of  newspaper  criticism. 

Where,  under  the  initial  classification,  this  jour- 
nalistic school  is  in  the  mass  found  to  maintain, 
like  the  college  professor  school,  that  dramatic  art 
1  See  the  latter.  2  See  the  former. 


90  COMEDIANS   ALL 

and  morals  are  inseparable,  the  reasons  for  the 
attitude  are  here  doubtless  somewhat  more  extrin- 
sic than  intrinsic — and  so  more  readily  comprehen- 
sible. These  reasons  are  not  difficult  of  decipher- 
ment. It  is  manifestly  impossible  for  a  generally 
circulated  newspaper  to  toy,  however  legitimately 
from  the  viewpoint  of  art,  with  doctrines  which  are, 
in  the  current  phrase,^  not  compatible  with  the 
policy  of  journals  "intended  for  the  home."  It 
is  certainly  an  impossible  business  policy  that 
would  permit  the  printing  of  a  review  extolling  the 
theme,  viewpoint  and  treatment  of,  say,  Wedekind's 
"Earth  Spirit"  in  the  column  alongside  the  big  ad- 
vertisements of  Mrs.  Winslow's  Soothing  Syrup, 
Grand  Rapids  double  beds,  and  felt  slippers. 
Where  one  newspaper  like  the  estimable  Boston 
Transcript  possesses  the  independence  to  dissociate 
the  morals  of  art  from  the  morals  of  Fairy  Soap 
and  Libby's  Home  Salad  Dressing — and  permits 
the  devil  to  chase  his  tail  as  best  he  may — ^there 
are  fifty  who  quake  in  their  goloshes  at  the  mere 
thought  of  what  N.  W.  Ayer  and  Co.  would  think 
of  a  favorable  review  of  the  locally  immoral  but 
universally  very  beautiful  art  of  Dr.  Arthur 
Schnitzler. 

^  Invented  and  assiduously  expounded  by  the  advertising  de- 
partmenL 


DRAMATIC  CRITICISM  91 
Coming  to  the  second  journalistic  classification, 
we  encounter  the  school  of  newspaper  criticism  that 
runs  violently  counter  to  the  college  professor  in 
hailing  enthusiastically  almost  any  play  that 
brazenly  flouts  the  conventional  technic  and  sub- 
stitutes for  it  a  technic  that  has  the  air  of  novelty 
— or  a  technic  that  is  a  liberal  negation  of  tech- 
nic. This  journalistic  school,  composed  largely 
of  recent  college  graduates  eager  to  demonstrate 
to  their  erstwhile  professors  their  vigorous  inde- 
pendence of  judgment,  holds  the  Shaw  technic 
superior  to  the  Pinero  for  no  other  reason  than  that 
it  breaks  away  from  tradition;  and  the  flash-back 
technic  of  young  Mr.  Reizenstein's  "On  Trial"  and 
the  flash-forward  technic  of  young  Mr.  Guemon's 
"Eyes  of  Youth"  superior  to  the  technic  of  De 
Curel  for  the  same  reason.  This  critical  group 
confounds  mere  superficial  novelty  with  artistic 
progress  and,  though  vastly  more  applaudable 
than  the  campus  critical  group  by  virtue  of  its 
greater  openness  and  hospitality  to  innovation  and 
experiment,  is  yet  found  to  lean  so  far  and  so  gym- 
nastically  forward  that  it  is  continually  touching 
its  nose  to  its  toes. 

In  the  third  classification  we  have  the  journal- 
istic school  of  criticism  which  maintains,  often  with 
superlative  gusto,  that  a  play  is  a  good  play  in  the 


92  COMEDIANS   ALL 

degree  that  the  "message"  of  that  play  is  oppor- 
tune. In  other  words,  that  a  work  of  art  is  bounded 
this  time  not  by  geographical  frontiers,  but  by  the 
frontiers  of  time.  In  short,  that  a  play  like  the 
Messrs.  Shipman's  and  Hoffmann's  "Friendly  Ene- 
mies," or  Mr.  Thomas'  "The  Copperhead,"  is  by 
virtue  of  the  acute  timeliness  and  hence  strong 
emotional  syringing-power  of  its  thesis  a  more 
deserving  work  of  art  than  some  such  play  as 
Brieux's  "Les  Hannetons"  which,  while  a  good 
play,  has  yet  nothing  in  it  to  stir  such  emotions  as 
have  been  brought  by  the  trend'  of  current  events 
immediately  into  the  foreground. 

These,  then,  briefly  and  roughly,  are  the  divisions 
and  sub-divisions  of  the  bulk  of  dramatic  criticism 
as  we  of  the  American  today  observe  it.  Founded 
on  the  college  professor  side,  upon  (1)  an  almost 
complete  lack  of  knowledge  of  the  actual  theatre 
and  the  changes  wrought  therein  in  the  last  decade, 
(2)  a  stem  disinclination,  confounded  with  poise 
and  dignity,  to  accept  new  things  and  new  stand- 
ards, and  (3)  a  confusion  of  the  stage  with  the 
tabernacle  pulpit — and  founded,  on  the  journalistic 
side,  upon  either  (1)  a  desire  to  attract  notice 
through  the  eloquent  championship  of  a  drama- 
turgic under  dog  or  (2)  a  desire  to  earn  salary  in 
peace  and  comfort  by  championing  all  the  upper 


DRAMATIC  CRITICISM  93 
dogs — this  native  criticism  reveals  a  bizarre  coun- 
tenance. It  is,  on  the  campus  side,  a  mere  very 
pale  reflex  of  the  criticism  of  William  Archer  and, 
on  the  journalistic,  a  mere  equally  pale  reflex  of 
the  criticism  of  Clement  Scott.  I  doubt  if  I  ex- 
aggerate unduly  when  I  say  that  neither  of  these 
critical  schools  has  in  the  last  dozen  years  ex- 
pressed a  single  thought,  a  single  philosophy  or  a 
single  recommendation  that  has  assisted  an  Ameri- 
can producer  or  playwright,  however  eager  and 
willing,  to  improve  upon  his  labours  or  to  elevate 
his  standards.  If  our  native  theatre  has  in  these 
dozen  years  made  progress — and  that  it  has  made 
substantial  progress  there  is  doubtless  none  unwill- 
ing to  grant — ^that  progress  has  been  made,  very 
largely,  in  spite  of  the  so-called  constructive  criti- 
cism that  has  been  visited  upon  it.  These  dozen 
years  have  witnessed  the  birth  of  the  Hopkinses 
and  the  Stuart  Walkers,  the  Washington  Square 
Players,  the  Theatre  Guilds,  the  Provincetown 
Players  and  other  small  theatre  groups,  in  the 
cradle  of  the  newer  and  finer  American  stage. 
And  these  births  have  come  about  in  the  face  of 
the  dramatic  and  theatrical  race  suicide  persist- 
ently, if  not  intentionally,  urged  by  the  frowzy- 
tradition  celebrating  campus  critics  on  the  one  hand 
and    the   surface-novelty   celebrating    journalistic 


94  COMEDIANS   ALL 

critics  on  the  other.  What  the  American  theatre 
needs  is  not  more  intelligent  producers — it  has  a 
goodly  share  of  them — but  more  intelligent  critics. 
In  all  the  colleges  and  newspaper  offices  of  the 
land,  there  are  today  not  more  than  two  or  three 
men  writing  professional  dramatic  criticism  who 
can  write  as  sound,  as  sober,  and  as  searching  criti- 
cism as  was  expounded  in  the  young  producer 
Hopkins'  vest-pocket  pamphlet  named  "How's 
Your  Second  Act?" 

§  24 

Drama. — A  theatrical  composition  which  treats 
of  a  variable  number  of  characters  at  that  point  in 
their  lives  when  they  have  all  just  bought  them- 
selves new  clothes. 

§  25 

Roof  Shows. — ^That  such  roof  music  shows  as 
Mr.  Ziegfeld's  "Midnight  Frolic"  and  Mr.  Gest's 
"Century  Whirl"  would  be  more  advantageously 
placed  were  they  moved  downstairs  into  the  theatres 
proper  and  that  such  theatre  productions  as,  say, 
Mr.  Morosco's  "Cappy  Ricks"  and  Mr.  Belasco's 
"Daddies"  would  similarly  be  benefited  were  they 
moved  upstairs  onto  the  roof,  I  begin  to  persuade 


ROOF   SHOWS  95 

myself.  I  speak,  of  course,  not  so  much  from  the 
purely  critical  point  of  view  as  from  that  of  the 
practical  theatre:  for  from  this  latter  point  of  view 
the  gain  in  such  a  shuffling  of  the  deck  is  not  diffi- 
cult of  deduction. 

Let  us  consider,  first,  the  roof  music  shows. 
After  reviewing  a  dozen  or  more  of  these  ami- 
able pastimes  in  the  last  few  years,  I  have  on  each 
occasion  been  brought  to  the  conclusion  that  they 
largely  defeat  themselves  in  the  very  business  of 
polite  aphrodisiac  wherewith  they  seek  to  cater. 
The  reason  is  simple  enough.  The  success  of  the 
music  show  stage — the  stage  of  the  "Black  Crooks" 
of  yesterday  and  the  "Follies"  of  today — is  pre- 
dicated on  the  polite  sensual  allure  of  that  stage. 
And  the  polite  sensual  allure  of  that  stage  is  pre- 
dicated, in  turn,  on  the  eternal  allure  of  what  seems 
to  be  remote  and  unattainable.  Or  in  another 
phrase,  what  seems  to  be  illusory  and  esoteric. 
What  we  engage  here  is  the  same  thing  that  the  late 
Charles  Frohman  accurately  appreciated  as  ob- 
taining in  a  measure  in  the  dramatic  theatre;  the 
same  thing,  indeed,  that  the  equally  astute  Mr. 
Belasco  appreciates  today.  It  was  Frohman's  in- 
junction to  his  leading  women  players,  as  it  is 
Belasco's  in  this  day,  ever  to  keep  themselves 
aloof  from  the  public  eye  and  thus  ever  to  make 


96  COMEDIANS   ALL 

of  themselves  piquing  and  mysterious  figures. 
"Never  allow  yourself  to  be  seen  on  the  street — 
above  all,  never  on  Broadway.  When  you  go  out, 
use  a  closed  cab.  Do  not  allow  yourself  to  be 
seen  in  public  restaurants.  But  if  you  must  dine 
out,  make  it  Sherry's.  And  never  allow  yourself 
to  be  seen  with  an  actor."  That  was,  in  part,  the 
shrewd  Frohman's  dictum.  That,  in  essence,  is 
the  dictum,  in  part,  of  the  equally  shrewd  Belasco. 
When  one  young  leading  woman  one  day  disre- 
garded the  Frohman  edict  and  hoofed  Broadway, 
Frohman  promptly  got  rid  of  her.  (She  has  never 
since,  incidentally,  been  successful.)  When  one 
somewhat  older  leading  woman  one  day  disobeyed 
the  Belasco  command  and  became  fiancee  to  an  ex- 
actor, Belasco  promptly  released  her  from  his 
management.  (And  she,  too,  incidentally,  has 
never  since  been  successful.) 

The  sensual  horse-power  of  a  music  show  is  ob- 
viously diminished  in  the  degree  that  the  girls  are 
brought  into  proximity  with  the  gentlemen  sitters. 
In  the  downstairs  theatres  this  is  very  clearly  to 
be  observed  in  a  comparison  of  the  "Follies"  and 
its  distant  New  Amsterdam  stage  with  the  Winter 
Garden  and  its  relatively  intimate  runway.  In 
the  roof  theatres,  this  horse-power  is  reduced  to 
what  approaches  a  vanishing  point  by  bringing 


ROOF   SHOWS  97 

the  girls  so  close  to  the  audience  that  barely  a  trace 
of  illusion  remains.  The  girls  who  adorn  the  re- 
mote stage  of  the  Ambassadeurs  in  Paris  get  the 
snooping  American  pew-holder  by  the  ear;  the  same 
girls,  dancing  familiarly  at  close  range  in  the  gar- 
den between  the  acts,  merely  bring  him  to  uncork 
a  blue  chuckle.  A  stage  of  the  Hofoperntheater  ^ 
of  Vienna,  commonly  agreed  by  visiting  connois- 
seurs to  hold  the  fairest  and  most  fetching  wenches 
in  the  world,  is  farther  removed  from  the  audi- 
ence than  any  other  operetta  stage  in  the  world.  .  .  . 
Any  music  show,  however  poor,  is  a  certain 
success  the  male  members  of  whose  audience  go 
their  several  ways  at  the  fall  of  the  final  curtain 
individually  wishing  that  they  had  the  telephone 
number  of  this  or  that  particular  girl.  (I  appre- 
ciate that  this  isn't  precisely  the  sort  of  criticism 
deeply  admired  by  the  Drama  League  Iliodors  but, 
as  every  music  show  producer  knows,  it  is  true.) 
And  the  hankering  for  this  connection  is  plainly 
more  fully  cultivated  by  the  distance-lends-en- 
chantment  stratagem  of  the  downstairs  stage  than 
by  the  present  misguided  roof  move  of  bringing 
the  pseudo-lovely  one  within  such  close  range  that 
the  Louisville  and  Allentown  admirers  may  cruelly 

1 1  of  course  speak  of  this  theatre  at  such  times  as  its  stage 
deserts  opera  for  the  lighter  music  play. 


98  COMEDIANS   ALL 

assess  the  mirage  in  terms  of  devastating  grease 
paint,  moles,  gilt  teeth,  loud  perfumery,  stocking 
seams  and  hooks  and  eyes.  The  most  beautiful 
woman's  beauty  diminishes  in  the  degree  that  it 
comes  toward  the  male  eye;  the  most  beautiful 
woman  in  the  world,  scanned  nose  to  nose,  betrays 
previously  unsuspected  and  discordant  blemishes. 
And — *'les  illusions  ne  sont-elles  pas  la  fortune 
du  coeur?" 

But  where  this  intimacy  is  highly  damaging  to 
the  music  show,  it  is  precisely  the  reverse  in  the 
instance  of  drama.  If  the  remote  Hofopemtheater 
stage  has  been  an  extraordinarily  prosperous  oper- 
etta stage  by  very  reason  of  its  remoteness  from  the 
stalls,  the  remote  late  New  Theatre  stage  was  an 
extraordinarily  unprosperous  dramatic  stage  by 
very  same  reason  of  its  equal  remoteness  from  the 
stalls.  And  since  the  modem  practical  dramatic 
theatre  has  increased  its  fortunes  as  it  has  more 
and  more  increased  the  intimacy  of  its  dramatic 
stage  and  auditorium — going  back,  in  this,  to  the 
auspicial  principles  of  antecedent  centuries — one 
cannot  but  believe  that,  still  speaking  practically, 
this  theatre  might  not  augment  its  financial  for- 
tunes even  more  by  developing  the  intimacy  to  an 
even  greater  degree. 


ROOF   SHOWS  99 

When  Mr.  Belasco  produces  a  dramatic  piece 
like  "Daddies,"  it  is  assuredly  reasonable  to  as- 
sume that  Mr.  Belasco  does  so  purely  and  simply 
to  make  money.  To  believe  that  Mr.  Belasco  be- 
lieves that  a  play  like  "Daddies"  is  an  art-work 
and  that  its  presentation  will  enhance  his  standing 
in  the  art  world,  is  a  gooseberry  too  sour  to  suck. 
Therefore,  since  the  question  is  primarily  one  of 
boodle,  it  is  an  eminently  safe  assumption  to  be- 
lieve that  "Daddies,"  were  it  presented  on  a  roof, 
would  prove  not  only  a  much  more  amusing  show 
than  it  proves  to  be  downstairs,  but  that,  hence,  by 
way  of  predicate,  it  would  make  much  more  money 
than  it  makes  downstairs.  And  why?  Firstly, 
because  it  would  on  the  roof  still  appeal  to  all  the 
same  sentimentalists  who  admire  it  in  the  more 
austere  nether  confines  of  Thespis  and,  secondly, 
because  it  would  on  the  roof  further  appeal  to  all 
those  who  have  no  relish  for  its  diabetic  pollyan- 
naism  as  it  is  currently  presented.  And  why 
again?  Because  while  those  persons  who  pres- 
ently admire  it  downstairs  would  admire  it  equally 
upstairs,  those  persons  who  presently  do  not  admire 
it  downstairs  would  find  it  a  great  diversion  up- 
stairs where — following  the  Ziegfeld  and  Gest  roof 
idea — they  might  throw  balls  at  the  actors,  ring 


100  COMEDIANS   ALL 

bells  when  the  dialogue  became  too  swashy,  and 
squirt  siphons  at  the  diabolically  cute  stage  chil- 
dren. 

Aside  from  the  undeniable  facts  that  such  plays 
as  "Daddies" — and  there  are  regularly  dozens  of 
them  along  Broadway — would  profit  more  with 
roof  audiences  who  were  somewhat  squiffed  than 
with  the  cold  sober  downstairs  shoppers,  would 
make  a  better  impression,  and  would  hence  be 
doubly  successful,  these  plays — were  they  moved 
up  to  the  roofs  and  made  the  subject  of  character- 
istic roof  divertissement — would  by  this  change  in 
projection  draw  to  them  the  large  number  of  per- 
sons who  cannot  stomach  their  idiotic  uplifterei  in 
its  current  condition  of  presentation.  A  man  who 
presently  couldn't  be  drawn  in  to  see  a  piece  like 
"Daddies"  with  a  halter  would  be  delighted  to 
see  it  on  the  New  Amsterdam  or  Century  roof 
where,  when  Mr.  John  Cope,  (Btat  fifty-one,  comes 
out  in  the  role  of  a  college  boy,  he  might  stop  eat- 
ing his  chop  suey  long  enough  to  throw  a  cane 
ring  over  Mr.  Cope's  ear  or  where,  when  Mr.  Bruce 
McRae  as  a  great  novelist  observes  that  he  must 
hurry  up  work  on  the  last  chapters  of  his  serial 
since  otherwise  George  Horace  Lorimer  will  have 
to  hold  up  the  presses  of  the  Saturday  Evening  Post, 
he  might,  in  the  playwright's  absence,  in-curve  one 


ROOF   SHOWS  101 

of  the  cotton  balls  against  the  M.  McRae's  aft- 
pant. 

Look  at  the  situation  honestly,  without  hypocrisy, 
and  tell  me  if  eight  out  of  every  ten  of  the  so- 
called  straight  plays  annually  uncovered  along 
Broadway  might  not  thus  be  made  much  more  en- 
joyable and  profitable.  I  do  not  refer,  plainly 
enough,  to  the  respectable  play  that  every  once  in 
a  while  contrives  to  show  its  head  above  the  Rialto 
slop  jar,  but  to  the  omnipresent  exhibition  of  purely 
commercial  showshop  accent.  Thus,  such  a  play 
as  "Just  Around  the  Comer"  that  lasts  a  scant 
week  in  the  dramatic  rathskeller  and  induces  a 
mental  morbus  might  upstairs  prove  a  gay  diver- 
sion and  last  many  months.  For  here  was  excel- 
lent roof  material  gone  to  waste.  Picture  the 
pleasure  that  the  theatregoing  public  might  gain 
by  ringing  the  table  gongs  on  such  venerable  Ho- 
bart  mots  as  the  best  book  to  be  had  in  the  small 
town  being  a  mileage  book  back  to  New  York,  al- 
luding to  the  sheriff  as  Mr.  Marshall  and,  upon  one 
character's  mistaking  Pompeii  for  a  man,  causing 
another  to  observe  that  he  died  of  an  eruption! 
Picture  the  immense  enjoyment  to  be  procured  from 
using  the  little  wooden  hammers  on  such  goatee'd 
hokums  as  the  man  kissing  the  wrong  girl  in  the 
dark,  the  repentant  youth  from  the  Reformatory 


102  COMEDIANS   ALL 

upon  whom  suspicion  of  robbing  the  safe  is  made 
cruelly  to  rest,  and  the  climacteric  nosing  out  of 
the  rich  villain  by  the  poor  pure  young  heroine! 
True  enough,  one  would  wear  out  one's  right  arm, 
but  think  of  the  fun. 

Take  other  downstairs  plays.  Even  a  play  of 
infinitely  better  grade,  such  as  "Moliere,"  would 
be  improved  by  the  change.  For  in  the  instance 
of  a  play  of  this  better  kidney  the  performance  on 
the  floor  in  the  very  midst  of  the  roof  audience 
would  relieve  the  present  performance  of  much  of 
its  hurtful  chill.  The  effect,  on  the  intimate  roof 
floor,  would  be  to  bring  the  audience  out  of  its 
present  twentieth  century  mood  and,  by  the  curious 
familistere  potency  of  theatricalism,  make  it  in 
spirit  part  of  the  court  about  the  fourteenth  Louis. 
There  would  be  no  loss  of  respect  for  the  text, 
but  a  subconsciously  provoked  gain  in  respect. 
This  trick,  in  small  measure,  was  utilized  by  Gran- 
ville Barker  in  his  staging  of  the  induction  to 
Shaw's  "Fanny's  First  Play."  Reinhardt,  on  a 
large  scale,  executed  the  same  plan  with  great 
success  in  his  Kammerspielhaus  when,  on  one 
occasion  seven  years  ago,  by  carrying  the  scenic 
decorations  and  lighting  out  into  the  auditorium  he 
literally  contrived  to  lift  his  audiences  bodily  over 
into  the  milieu  of  the  dramatic  characters.     In 


ROOF   SHOWS  103 

Japan,  of  course,  the  scheme  is  familiar.  And 
William  A.  Brady,  in  this  country,  tried  out  the 
idea  very  happily  in  the  last  act  of  "Pretty  Peggy" 
when,  by  filling  a  portion  of  the  orchestra  chairs 
with  supers  in  costume,  he  converted  the  balance 
of  the  audience  into  actors  in  the  scene. 

Some  years  ago,  I  read  in  an  Italian  periodical 
devoted  to  the  stage  a  somewhat  analogous  sugges- 
tion as  to  vaudeville.  The  critic  here  contended 
that  the  trouble  with  vaudeville  was  that  the  vaude- 
ville audience  was  ever  short-sightedly  regarded 
as  of  the  same  complexion  as  the  dramatic  audi- 
ence, whereas  it  must  be  plain  even  to  the  most 
eminent  Drama  Leaguer  that  the  two  audiences  are 
of  as  diverse  species  as  jackass  and  owl.  The 
Italian  critic  maintained,  therefore,  that  since 
vaudeville  audiences  are  very  largely  of  a  piece 
with  the  kind  of  yokels  who,  in  our  country,  merrily 
spend  their  holidays  in  the  so-called  Steeplechase 
Parks  getting  deathly  sick  on  roller  coasters,  frac- 
turing their  ribs  in  revolving  barrels  and  catching 
pneumonia  by  standing  agape  in  a  mechanically 
operated  blast  of  wind  that  blows  hats  off  and  skirts 
up — that  since  this  is  the  case,  vaudeville  audiences 
should  be  handled  in  a  similar  vein  by  the  vaude- 
ville impresarios.  To  make  vaudeville  doubly  en- 
joyable to  these  persons,   argued  the  critic,   the 


104  COMEDIANS   ALL 

chairs  in  a  vaudeville  dive  should  be  so  built  that 
they  would  drolly  collapse  when  sat  upon,  that  the 
hat  holders  under  the  seats  should  impart  electric 
shocks,  that  the  ventilators  under  the  chairs  should 
at  unexpected  intervals  squirt  streams  of  water  into 
the  faces  of  the  sitters,  and  so  on. 

But  to  return  to  the  roof  music  shows.  That 
these  shows  would  be  measurably  better  placed  in 
the  downstairs  theatres  must  be  apparent  to  any- 
one who  has  sat  critically  before  them.  One  goes 
to  a  music  show,  obviously  enough,  not  to  hear,  as 
in  the  case  of  a  dramatic  piece,  but  to  see.  There- 
fore, where  in  the  potential  instance  of  a  roof- 
presented  dramatic  piece  like,  let  us  say,  "The 
Burgomaster  of  Belgium,"  it  would  not  matter 
much  whether  one  saw  the  actors  or  not  so  long 
as  one  could  hear  what  they  were  up  to,  in  the  in- 
stance of  one  of  the  current  roof -presented  music 
shows  it  quite  as  certainly  does  matter.  That 
these  music  shows  would  be  better  placed  in  a 
downstairs  theatre  where  one's  view  of  Lillian 
Lorraine  was  not  periodically  cut  off  by  the  migra- 
tory hinter  anatomy  of  a  fat  Swiss  waiter  and  one's 
pleasurable  appraisal  of  Mollie  King  every  other 
minute  interrupted  by  the  moving  across  the  vision 
of  the  ambulatory  person  of  a  Roumanian  bus  boy, 
no  one  can  well  contradict.     When — as  I  have 


ROOF   SHOWS  105 

often  written — I  am  courteously  invited  by  the 
management  of  a  roof  music  show  to  inspect  Mar- 
tha Mansfield  or  Rosie  Quinn  and  then,  just  as  the 
lovely  virgin  shoots  out  onto  the  floor,  my  eye 
meets  instead  with  the  enormous  posterior  of  a 
roving  gargon,  I  am  intelligibly  provoked. 

When  I  visit  a  roof  show — and  I  presume  that 
I  am  not  much  different  from  other  men — I  visit 
it  primarily  not  to  hear  the  so-called  music,  nor 
listen  to  such  accompanying  rhymes  as  "A  sweet 
French  grisett-a,  whose  name  it  is  Yetta,"  nor  en- 
visage tableaux  disclosing  a  scowling  chorus  man 
in  a  red  undershirt  and  placarded  "The  Spirit  of 
Anarchy,"  but  merely  and  purely,  plainly  and  sim- 
ply, to  look  over  the  girls.  And  when  my  eye  is 
caressed  by  a  creature  sufficiently  fetching  to  take 
my  thoughts  for  the  moment  off  such  of  my  habitual 
ruminations  as  the  occulsion  of  the  aqueduct  of 
Sylvius  in  relation  to  hydrocephalus,  or  the  ques- 
tion of  orokinase  and  ptyalin  in  the  saliva  of  a 
horse,  I  don't  wish  to  be  interrupted.  It  is  dis- 
tressing to  go  to  a  roof  with  the  notion  of  getting 
the  little  Quinn  and  her  chemise  dance  to  rid  the 
tired  mind  of  speculations  on  the  phenolsulphone- 
phthalein  test  and  its  application  to  surgical  dis- 
eases of  the  kidneys,  or  with  the  intention  of  get- 
ting the  Mile.  King's  pretty  legs  to  make  one  agree- 


106  COMEDIANS   ALL 

ably  forget  for  the  nonce  such  workaday  problems 
as  the  genetic  study  of  plant  height  in  phase- 
olus  vulgaris,  to  say  nothing  of  the  notion  of  sum- 
mability  for  the  limit  of  a  function  of  a  contin- 
uous variable,  and  then  find  that  at  the  Miss  King's 
very  first  knee  expose  or  the  Miss  Quinn's  second 
wiggle  a  nomadic  chow  main  butler,  cigar  vivan- 
diere  or  winepail  porter  is  shutting  the  gentle  houri 
from  view. 

The  august  Professor  Richard  Burton  may  rather 
look  at  Holbrook  Blinn  than  at  Marilynn  Miller, 
but  I  call  upon  such  of  my  somewhat  softer 
arteried  friends  as  the  Professors  William  Lyon 
Phelps  and  Archibald  Henderson  to  lift  their  right 
hands  to  the  ceiling,  smack  the  Book,  face  the  jury, 
and  solemnly  on  their  sacred  words  of  honour 
swear  that  they  would  do  likewise. 

§  26 

Avery  Hopwood. — In  the  concoction  of  suavely 
risque  farce,  Avery  Hopwood  usually  stands  head 
and  shoulders  above  his  perspiring  American  ri- 
vals for  the  simple  reason  that  while  any  number 
of  the  latter  probably  know  just  as  much  about 
writing  risque  farce  as  he  does,  there  isn't  one 
who  knows,  as  he  knows,  how  to  write  risque  Eng- 


AVERY   HOPWOOD  107 

lish.  There  are  probably  a  dozen  American  farce 
writers  who  can  evolve  better  ideas  for  their  farces 
than  Hopwood  is  able  to  evolve  for  his;  and  there 
are  many  who  are  considerably  more  fertile  in 
devising  original  and  more  comically  impudent 
characters  and  situations.  Yet  not  one  of  them 
can  write  a  farce  half  so  good  as  Hopwood,  since 
not  one  of  them  understands  his  native  language, 
and  the  acrobatics  of  that  language,  so  well  as  Hop- 
wood. 

It  is  this  virtue  that  Hopwood's  even  most 
friendly  critics  habitually  overlook.  To  praise 
Hopwood,  as  he  is  generally  praised,  for  his  inven- 
tion in  the  way  of  politely  risque  situation,  is  to 
praise  him  very  largely  for  a  talent  that  is  not  espe- 
cially his,  since  more  than  one  such  excellent  situ- 
ation has  been  bodily  appropriated  by  him  from  the 
work  of  this  and  that  European  writer.  The 
amusing  Hopwood  calendar  situation  in  "Sadie 
Love,"  for  example,  is  a  literal  borrowing  of  the 
same  amusing  situation  from  Sacha  Guitry's  farce, 
"La  Prise  de  Berg-op-Zoom."  And  the  Hopwood 
bed-moving  situation  in  "Fair  and  Warmer"  is  a 
brother  to  much  the  same  situation  in  Jean  Mar- 
tet's  farce  "Les  Ingrats,"  as  the  servant  situation 
in  "Our  Little  Wife"  is  to  the  servant  situation  in 
Rip's    and    Bousquet's    "L'Habit    d'un    Laquais." 


108  COMEDIANS   ALL 

Thus,  also,  to  praise  Hopwood,  as  he  is  generally 
praised,  for  the  originality  of  his  farcical  themes 
is  equally  to  miss  the  mark.  The  soul  swapping, 
astral  body  conceit  of  his  poorest  farce,  "Double 
Exposure,"  for  example,  was  already  long  familiar 
in  the  German  von  Scholz's  farce,  "Exchanged 
Souls."  But  the  general  failure  to  praise  Hop- 
wood  for  his  high  cunning  in  the  writing  of  naughty 
English,  for  his  happy  knack  of  selecting  precisely 
the  proper  word  for  precisely  the  improper  place, 
is  to  miss  the  mark  even  more  widely.  For  it  is  in 
this  gymnastic  that  Hopwood  excels  every  other 
American  writing  for  the  farce  stage  and  not  only 
every  other  American,  but,  as  I  have  hereinbefore 
pointed  out,  a  number  of  the  talented  Frenchmen 
as  well. 

Hopwood  knows  how  to  write  this  risque  English 
because,  first,  he  knows  how  to  write  English.  Un- 
like his  Broadway  farce-making  competitors,  he  ap- 
preciates that  good  farce  is  not  to  be  manufactured 
by  walking  the  floor  like  a  caged  hyena  and  shoot- 
ing dictation  at  a  stenographer  out  of  the  edge  of 
the  mouth.  He  understands  that  writing  is  writing, 
and  not  merely  the  recording  of  extemporaneous 
conversation.  He  knows  that  it  is  as  absurd  to  sup- 
pose that,  since  a  play  is  to  be  spoken  by  actors,  the 
spoken  word  of  the  actors  is  best  to  be  made  to  seem 


AVERY   HOPWOOD  109 

natural  through  the  author's  experimental  speak- 
ing instead  of  writing  that  word,  as  it  would  be  to 
suppose  that  since  a  waltz  is  to  be  danced  by 
dancers,  the  leg-work  of  the  dancers  is  best  to 
be  made  to  seem  graceful  through  the  composer's 
experimental  dancing  instead  of  writing  that  waltz. 
(That  the  Mozarts  of  modem  farce,  de  Caillavet 
and  de  Flers,  are  an  exception  in  this  is  a  contradic- 
tion not  especially  more  pertinent  than  the  circum- 
stance that  Mozart  improvised  a  strict  fugue  on  the 
clavichord  at  fourteen  is  a  contradiction  of  the  fact 
that  fugues  are  made  and  not  bom.)  In  almost 
every  word  that  he  writes,  Hopwood's  discrim- 
ination and  care  are  apparent.  Like  Langdon 
Mitchell,  he  seeks  his  audience's  laughter  less 
through  an  intricate  joking  sentence  than  through 
a  single  joking  adjective.  As  Mitchell,  in  his 
comedy  "The  New  York  Idea,"  brews  a  good  round 
chuckle  merely  by  dropping  the  adjective  "mis- 
cellaneous" into  an  apt  place,  so  Hopwood  in  some 
one  of  his  farces  like  "Sadie  Love,"  say,  turns  the 
same  trick  by  dropping  the  little  adjective  "first" 
into  an  equally  apt  place.  And  where  one  of  the 
sweating  Broadway  farce  heavers  like  Mr.  Mark 
Swan,  for  instance,  works  tooth  and  nail  to  get  a 
laugh  by  laboriously  combining  a  joke  from  the 
Birmingham  Age-Herald  with  the  spectacle  of  a  fat 


110  COMEDIANS   ALL 

actress  in  green  pajamas,  Hop  wood  contrives  to  get 
a  tripled  laugh  by  the  much  simpler  expedient  of 
selecting  carefully  a  single  peppery,  appropriate 
verb. 

However  greatly  one  of  his  farces  may  happen 
to  vary  from  the  standard  he  has  set  for  himself — 
personally,  I  believe  his  "Our  Little  Wife"  to  be 
his  best  work — there  is  little  Hopwood  writes  that  I 
do  not  experience  a  pleasure  in  contemplating. 
Like  Victor  Herbert,  he  never  does  anything  with- 
out its  touch  of  quality.  There  is  always  a  cosmo- 
politan twinkle  of  eye,  a  gay  phrase,  an  amusing — 
if,  in  truth,  entirely  superficial — hitting  on  this 
or  that  human  idiosyncrasy.  Taking  his  farce  writ- 
ing by  and  large,  I  suppose  he  intrinsically  re- 
sembles the  young  Guitry  more  than  he  resembles 
any  other  Continental.  Like  Guitry,  his  comment 
on  life  is  most  frequently  negligible;  and  like 
Guitry,  his  satiric  sense,  if  he  has  such  a  sense, 
remains  largely  invisible;  but  like  Guitry,  too,  he 
can  take  a  sheet  of  gay  tissue  paper  and  with  a 
fancy  adroitness  twist  it  into  an  exceptionally 
jocund  foolscap.  Born  in  Ohio,  I  believe,  and 
graduated  from  the  college  at  Ann  Arbor,  Michigan, 
he  is  paradoxically  as  Parisian  in  his  writing  as  this 
Guitry.     And  he  is  the  only  man  writing  risque 


THE  POTBOILERMAKERS  111 
farce  in  America  whose  work  has  any  finish,  any 
style,  or  any  metropolitan  flavour. 

§  27 

The  Potboilermakers. — In  the  world  of  modem 
dramaturgy,  the  English  hack  takes  categorical  pre- 
cedence over  the  hacks  of  Europe  and  America  in 
the  enterprise  of  writing  bad  plays  as  dully  as  is 
by  human  effort  possible.  The  American  hack  at 
his  worst  is  always  a  cut  or  two  above  the  English 
hack  at  his  worst:  however  empty  his  play  there 
is  generally  a  touch  of  sharp  Americanism,  a  dash 
of  vulgar  honesty,  that  catches  the  ear.  And  the 
French  hack  or  German  hack,  the  Italian  or  the 
Austrian,  contributes  to  his  dismal  masterpiece  at 
least  a  flash  of  phrase  or  dim  suggestion  of  quasi- 
philosophy.  But  the  English  hack  reaches  heights 
of  virtuosity  in  stenciled  balderdash  unsealed  by  his 
drivelling  contemporaries.  This  is  true  not  only 
in  the  instance  of  dramatic  writing,  but  in  the  other 
forms  of  literature;  for  the  English  hack  novels 
of  such  as  the  immensely  popular  Nat  Gould  are 
as  far  inferior  to  the  American  hack  novels  of  such 
as  the  equally  popular  Harold  Bell  Wright,  or  to 
the  French  hack  novels  of  such  as  the  equally 


112  COMEDIANS   ALL 

popular  Henri  Bordeaux,  or  to  the  German  hack 
novels  of  such  as  the  once  almost  equally  popular 
Heinz  Tovote,  as  the  English  hack  plays  of  such  as 
Horace  Annesley  Vachell  are  triumphantly  inferior 
on  all  counts  to  the  American  hack  plays  of  such  as 
William  Hurlbut,  or  the  French  hack  plays  of  such 
as  Lucien  Gleize,  or  the  German  hack  plays  of  such 
as  Rudolf  Holzer,  or  the  Austro-Hungarian  hack 
plays  of  such  as  Vajda  Szinhaz,  or  the  Danish  hack 
plays  of  such  as  Carl  Gjellerup,  or  the  Italian  hack 
plays  of — 

But  no  need  to  continue  the  tedious  catalogue. 
Nothing  in  all  the  modem  writing  for  the  stage  at- 
tains to  the  dull  splendour  of  an  Englishman  writ- 
ing at  his  dullest.  At  his  worst  the  Englishman  is 
as  difficult  of  matching  as  at  Jiis  best.  Search  the 
records  of  current  theatrical  writing  the  world  over 
and  one  will  be  at  pains  to  discover  equals  in  the 
art  of  sheer  inanity  for  such  British  masters  of 
bavardage  and  twattle  as  Jennings,  Porter, 
Devereux,  Worrall,  Morton,  Hemmerde,  Vansittart, 
Nielson,  Howard,  Brandon,  Lonsdale,  Dunn, 
Coleby,  Martindale,  Pleydell,  Fenn,  Thurston, 
Terry,  Raleigh,  Hodges,  Percival,  Harwood, 
Vernon,  Owen,  Parry,  Stayton,  Frith,  Gibson, 
Hamilton,  Jeans,  Lion,  Merivale,  Chilton,  Ellis, 
Carr,  Denny,  Femald.  .  .  . 


THEPOTBOILERMAKERS  113 
This  last,  though  American  bom,  is  by  personal 
vote,  long  residence,  activity,  taste  and  training,  as 
English  as  a  mutton  chop  or  tight  shirt,  and  a  typical 
example  of  the  contemporaneous  English  rubber- 
stamp  professor.  Twenty  years  ago,  this  Mr. 
Chester  Bailey  Femald,  then  living  in  the  land  of 
his  birth,  wrote  a  first-rate  short  story  and  a  second- 
rate,  though  rather  diverting,  one-act  play.  But 
in  the  nineteen  years  elapsed  he  has  composed  not  so 
much  as  a  single  phrase  touched  with  grace  or 
originality,  with  resonance  or  wit,  with  melody  or 
observation  or  philosophy.  The  plays  he  has 
written,  from  "The  Moonlight  Blossom"  to  "The 
Married  Woman,"  from  "98-9"  to  "The  Day  Be- 
fore the  Day,"  from  "The  Pursuit  of  Pamela"  to  his 
most  recent  "Three  for  Diana"  out  of  "The  Third 
Marriage"  of  Sabatino  Lopez,  are  in  each  instance 
illuminatingly  representative  of  British  hackdom  on 
the  flying  trapeze. 

I  do  not  mean  to  single  out  Femald  as  the  worst 
of  this  sour  school,  or  even  the  second  worst.  He 
is  by  no  means  the  worst.  But  he  combines  in  him- 
self so  many  of  the  deficiencies  and  absent  qualities 
of  the  present-day  British  drama  drudge  that,  as 
well  as  any  other,  he  may  be  selected  by  way  of 
horrible  example.  It  is  a  characteristic  of  Femald, 
as  of  his  colleagues  in  the  arts  of  unimaginative 


114  COMEDIANS   ALL 

writing,  that  he  works  almost  entirely  in  terms  of 
the  platitudes,  treadmills,  stock  phraseology  and 
stale  literary  baggage  of  the  stage.  And  this  habit 
is  so  deeply  ingrained  that  it  operates  even  when 
he  gives  himself  over  to  the  transposing  of  a  play 
manuscript  from  one  language  into  another,  just  as 
it  operates  in  like  situation  in  the  instance  of  such 
of  his  fellow  doctors  of  stencil  as  Fagan,  Hicks, 
Farquarson  Sharp,  Bithell,  et  al.  In  example 
whereof,  I  append  a  few  examples  from  the  adapta- 
tion by  Femald  of  the  aforementioned  Italian  "II 
Terzo  Marito" — examples  of  the  substitution  of  so 
many  coccygine  vaudeville-sketch  cackles  for  what 
might,  by  the  simple  and  obvious  means  of  direct 
translation,  have  been  retained  as  somewhat  less 
banal  and  moth-eaten  stuff: 

1.  "The  mere  sight  of  you  makes  me  grow  yoimger. 
It's  like  a  breath  of  the  sea  air!" 

2.  "You  are  free;  /  am  free!  What  is  the  use  of  hav- 
ing freedom  if  one  cannot  make  happiness  out  of 
it?  Marry  me  and  the  world  will  be  just  big 
enough  to  hold  our  happiness!" 

3.  **I  have  {dropping  her  eyes)  something  to  tell  you. 
When  you  have  heard  me,  probably  you  will  want 
to  reconsider  your  proposal." 

4.  "I  decided  to  talk  the  matter  over  with  her  once 
again.  She  had  insisted  that  we  should  not  refer 
to  it  again." 


THE   POTBOILERMAKERS     115 

5.  "But  under  that  moon,  under  those  silent  stars,  with 
the  music  of  the  waves  beneath  us.  .  .  ." 

6.  "How  she  has  changed  in  a  year!  She  was  a  child 
then;  now  she  is  a  woman!" 

7.  "I  wrote  you  not  to  come  until  now  because  I 
wanted  to  give  you  a  chance  to  think.  I  wanted 
you  to  be  prepared  for  (pause)  what  we  shall  have 
to  say  to  each  other." 

8.  "What  do  you  know  of  life?  Nothing!  There  is 
a  great,  beautiful  world  still  to  be  opened  to  you!" 

9.  "You  have  had  no  experience.  You  are  a  beautiful 
unwritten  page."    ' 

10.  "When  I  looked  into  your  eyes — I  can  see  your  eyes 
every  night  whenever  I  close  my  own  in  the  dark — 
the  first  time  I  looked  into  them  and  every  time  since 
— something  has  happened  in  my  heart." 

11.  "If  I  talk  lightly  about  the  most  serious  things  in 
the  world,  it  does  not  mean  that  I  am  frivolous.  I 
was  never  so  serious  in  my  life.  And  you  are  not 
going  to  tell  me  (gulping)  that  there  is  another?" 

12.  "If  you  send  me  off,  I  shall  never  get  over  it  as 
long  as  I  live!" 

13.  "My  own  feelings  were  a  trifle  hurt,  at  first;  but 
when  you  explained,  I  saw  that  your  intentions  were 
as  kindly  as  they  always  are." 

14.  "And  what,  pray,  do  you  know  about  me?" 

Add  to  these  sentimentalized  stencils  the  injec- 
tion of  an  alien  dose  of  morals,  the  joke  about  the 
practise  of  exchanging  duplicate  wedding  presents, 
the  joke  about  the  climate  of  England,  the  joke 


116  COMEDIANS   ALL 

about  married  persons  fighting  with  each  other,  and 
the  joke  about  woman's  habit  of  changing  her  mind, 
and  one  achieves  a  fair  idea  of  the  Femald  opera- 
tions in  adaptation.  I  have  seldom  laid  eyes  on 
a  sadder  job.  The  Italian  original,  true  enough, 
is  in  the  most  liberal  accounting  a  third-rate  effort, 
but  Femald  has  dexterously  plunged  it  thirty  pegs 
farther  down  the  scale.  He  has  changed  the  in- 
calescent  Italian  lover  into  a  cool  cockney 
cucumber;  he  has  turned  the  saucy  widow  into  a 
dour  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre  clothes-horse;  he 
has  removed  the  gin  from  the  cocktail  in  Acts  III 
and  IV;  he  has  written  over  the  Italian  phraseology 
into  the  phraseology  of  the  commonplace  London 
curtain-raiser.  In  the  original,  a  kind  of  high- 
comedy  matrimonial  "Baby  Mine" — though  in  no 
sense  and  in  no  degree  so  adroit  or  humorous  a 
work  as  Miss  Mayo's — the  play  is  revealed  in  this 
typical  British  hack  adaptation  as  a  windmill  turn- 
ing furiously  in  a  dead  calm. 

§  28 

The  Drama  of  Ideas. — The  theatre,  for  all  the 
whoops  and  hopes  of  its  academic  whifflers,  is 
actually  the  last  place  in  the  world  for  the  exposi- 
tion of  ideas.     The  so-called  drama  of  ideas — using 


THE  DRAMA  OF  IDEAS  117 
the  word  idea  in  its  strictest  sense — is  as  much  an 
anomaly  as  California  Rhine  wine.  Imagine  even 
the  tremendous  genius  of  a  Shakespeare  deducing 
from  the  influence  of  the  conception  of  evolution  on 
philosophy  a  sober  play  that  wouldn't  put  its 
audience  to  sleep.  Imagine  Hauptmann  a  Newton, 
de  Curel  a  Haeckel,  Dunsany  a  Thomas  Hobbs — 
and  then  imagine  sitting  through  their  dramatic 
stage  conclusions.  The  drama  of  ideas  must  be — 
in  fact,  is — merely  a  drama  of  inklings.  It  must 
be,  by  its  intrinsic  soul,  even  in  its  highest  forms, 
less  a  substantial  projector  of  such  ideas  as  Vernon 
Wollaston's  on  the  variation  of  species,  Lange's  on 
the  emotions,  Durkheim's  on  the  division  of  labour 
or  Tarde's  on  anti-naturalism  than  an  amiable 
juggler  of  such  easy  speculations  and  second-hand 
quasi-philosophies  as  Andreyev's  on  the  burden  of 
religion,  as  Dunsany's  on  fate,  as  Brieux's  on 
heredity  and  Galsworthy's  on  social  economics. 
One  genuine  idea,  expounded  soberly  and  soundly 
without  the  hocus-pocus  of  stage  tinsels,  would 
suffice  to  crowd  the  nearest  blind  pig  to  the  doors 
fifteen  minutes  after  the  rise  of  the  first  curtain. 


118  COMEDIANS   ALL 

§  29 

Hokum. — Probably  nowhere  else  do  the  popular 
playmakers  of  Broadway  reveal  their  imaginative 
shortcomings  so  clearly  as  in  the  employment  of 
what  is  known  colloquially  as  hokum.  In  particu- 
lar, comedy  hokum.  This  species  of  hokum,  or 
positively  provocative  comic  antic,  these  play- 
makers  scarcely  ever  embellish,  scarcely  ever 
elaborate,  scarcely  ever  trick  out  in  fresh  gauds  or 
overhaul.  Year  in  and  year  out,  and  (though  still 
largely  sure-fire)  become  drably  stereotyped  and 
threadbare,  this  hokum  of  tripping  over  the  door- 
mat, throwing  an  imaginary  object  into  the  wings 
and  having  the  stagehand  thereupon  strike  a  gong, 
and  the  like,  is  promulgated  in  all  the  glory  of  its 
venerable  whiskers.  The  rubber-stamp  hokum  of 
the  guignol  who  gets  his  hand  stuck  in  the  decanter, 
who  under  the  guise  of  camaraderie  gives  his  com- 
panion a  staggering  whack  across  the  shoulder 
blades,  who  emphasizing  a  point  stamps  on  his 
confrere's  toe,  who  bends  himself  in  at  the  middle 
as  if  anticipating  a  boot  from  the  rear,  who  peeking 
into  a  window  painted  on  the  back-drop  winks  over 
his  shoulder  at  the  audience  as  if  he  were  spectator 
of  saucy  didoes  transpiring  within — these  play- 
makers  provide  season  after  season.     And  yet  more 


THE    STAR   SYSTEM  119 

novel  hokum,  and  doubtless  by  virtue  of  its  com- 
parative freshness  more  telling  hokum,  were  readily 
improvised.  For  example,  the  droll  mule  who 
moves  aside  his  finger-bowl  and  dips  his  fingers 
grandly  in  the  demi-tasse.  For  example,  the  gabby 
Polonius  who,  just  as  he  has  worked  up  to  full 
eloquence,  drops  his  pince-nez  in  the  soup.  For 
example,  the  vengeful  hanswurst  who  very,  very 
slowly  lifts  up  his  foot  in  order  to  bring  it  down 
hard  on  his  neighbour's  great  toe,  suddenly  with  a 
seraphic  grin  lets  it  fly,  and,  while  still  grinning, 
feels  it  descend  with  an  awful  crack  on  his  own. 
For  example,  the  vir  borealis  who  lifts  the  telephone 
receiver  oiff  the  hook  and,  without  calling  a  number, 
enters  forthwith  into  the  midst  of  a  very  intimate 
conversation.  .  .  . 

§  30 

The  Star  System. — Some  fifteen  years  ago  and 
still  in  the  critical  egg,  it  was  one  of  the  major  di- 
versions of  my  almost  ceaseless  indignation  regu- 
larly to  deride  and  pummel  the  so-called  star  system 
of  the  American  stage.  Against  this  system  and  its 
personages  I  was  wont  to  discharge  profoundly 
manufactured  dialectic  and  abuse,  supported  by 
what  then  seemed  to  me  to  be  exceedingly  san- 
guinary   epigrams,    deadly    mots   and   bomb-like 


120  COMEDIANS   ALL 

similes  and  metaphors.  Let  a  physiologically 
choice  young  woman,  newly  graduated  to  stage 
eminence  from  some  managerial  love  sofa,  show 
herself  in  anything  more  than  the  merest  eight-point 
advertisement,  and  promptly  I  had  at  her  with  some 
such  very  ironical  definition  as  "Star:  A  heavenly 
body."  And  let  a  Figaro  somewhat  less  capable 
than  Forbes-Robertson  or  Moissi,  but  possessed  of 
two-inch  eyelashes,  be  elevated  overnight  by  some 
astute  impresario  from  the  part  of  the  butler  to  any- 
thing more  important  than  friend  to  Bassanio,  and 
I  was  upon  the  poor  fellow  with  something  like  "A 
proficient  actor  is  one  who  is  successful  in  com- 
pletely immersing  his  own  personality  in  the  role 
he  is  playing;  a  star  actor,  one  who  is  successful  in 
completely  immersing  the  role  he  is  playing  in  his 
own  personality."  And  having  thus  performed 
upon  these  poachers  and  depredators,  I  would 
chuckle  myself  to  sleep  and  arise  early  the  next 
morning  to  detect  the  death  rattles  and  watch  the 
star  system  roll  over,  gasp,  and  die.  But  each 
morning,  much  to  my  chagrin  and  utter  incompre- 
hension, the  impersuasible  stars  and  their  system — 
for  all  my  seemingly  unsurmountable  objections — 
appeared  to  get  stronger  and  rosier.  For  the  more 
assiduously  and  sarcastically  I  would  lay  to  the 
night  before  with  cutlass,  machine  gun,  cup  custard, 


THE    STAR   SYSTEM  121 

broom  handle,  dynamite,  axe,  old  slipper,  field 
pieces  and  pea-blower,  the  more  would  I  hop  out  at 
suncrack  to  view  the  enormous  stacks  of  corpses  and 
be  dumfounded  to  hear  only  a  peaceful,  rhythmic, 
and  apparently  very  comfortable  snoring. 

But  I  was  young  then,  and  not  disheartened. 
For  two — three — years,  I  kept  at  the  job,  hurling 
soft  puddings  and  bricks,  fashioning  biting  pro- 
nunciamentos,  installing  secret  wireless  stations  on 
the  roof,  brewing  devastating  repartees,  and  shoot- 
ing off  thousands  of  lethal  things  like  "Why  these 
extravagant  hymns  to  Madame  Sarah  Bernhardt  be- 
cause she  possesses  the  courage  to  appear  on  the 
stage  with  a  wooden  leg?  A  leg  is  approximately 
but  a  one-sixth  part  of  the  human  body.  There  are 
therefore  any  number  of  star  actresses  amongst  us 
who,  in  the  matter  of  woodenness,  have  the  Madame 
beaten  six  to  one."  And  not  only  did  the  stars 
themselves  daily  come  in  for  my  mortal  comments 
— as  for  example,  "An  actor  is  one  who  cannot  act; 
a  star  actor,  one  whose  exceptional  virtuosity  in 
this  direction  has  brought  him  recognition  from  a 
manager" — but  also  the  audiences  who,  against  my 
expressed  wish,  seemed  to  rush  to  see  the  stars  in 
such  numbers  that  I  was  compelled  to  take  a  side- 
street  to  get  to  my  home.  Of  the  women  who  went 
to  make  up  these  audiences  I  would  caustically  ob- 


122  COMEDIANS   ALL 

serve  that  they  fell  into  two  classes:  those  who 
thought  that  James  K.  Hackett  was  too  grand  for 
words,  and  those  who  thought  that  James  K.  Hackett 
would  be  too  grand  for  words  if  he  got  his  hair 
cut.  And  of  the  masculine  element,  that  the  three 
greatest  star  comedians  in  America  were  (1)  Dan 
Daly;  (2)  Thomas  Q.  Seabrooke;  and  (3)  the  man 
who  could  laugh  at  Frank  Daniels.  And  of  the 
programs  handed  to  these  audiences  (nothing  was 
out  of  the  range  of  my  pig-balloon),  that  they  were 
devices  subtly  employed  by  theatrical  managers  to 
persuade  the  audience  to  believe  that  the  play  it 
was  about  to  see  was  going  to  be  acted — or,  again, 
that  they  were  pamphlets  circulated  by  the  producer 
to  assure  the  audience  that  the  theatre  was  dis- 
infected of  germs  with  C  N  Disinfectant  and  the 
play  disinfected  of  drama  with  actors. 

To  reinforce  this  epigrammatic  front  line,  I 
would  then  hustle  up  from  the  rear  a  heavy 
artillery  of  smoking  similitudes  and  analogies, 
among  them  such  cartouches  as  the  likening  of  this 
star  actress'  carriage  to  a  buckboard  and  that  star 
actor's  vehement  articulation  of  grief  to  a  long  train 
of  freight  cars  in  the  act  of  unbuckling.  But  the 
more  I  performed,  the  longer  grew  the  lines  at  the 
box-offices  of  the  houses  wherein  the  stars  were 
playing  and  the  more  the  newspapers  gave  over 


THE    STAR   SYSTEM  123 

their  pages  to  the  public's  insistent  demand  for 
interviews  in  which  the  star  actresses  explained  how 
difficult  it  was  for  inexperienced  and  innocent 
women  like  themselves  to  act  sophisticated  roles  of 
the  Camille  and  Zaza  type  and  how  {business  of 
shuddering)  it  was  therefore  necessary  for  them  to 
take  up  with  one  of  these  creatures  in  order  closely 
to  watch  and  study  her.  And  so  great  presently 
became  the  popularity  of  the  heterogeneous  stars 
and  the  public's  relish  for  them  that  it  was  a  rare 
Sunday  newspaper  that  gave  one-tenth  the  space  to 
the  Philippine  muddle  and  the  Nan  Patterson  case 
that  it  devoted  to  this  star's  confession  that  she  was 
originally  a  well-known  society  girl  of  Roanoke, 
Va.,  or  to  that  star's  opinion  that  women  should  not 
smoke  in  public.  Photographs  of  star  actresses' 
Chinese  hounds  and  star  actors'  "country  homes"  at 
Bay  Shore,  Long  Island,  edged  the  pictures  of 
James  R.  Keene's  Sysonby,  Adlai  E.  Stevenson's 
birthplace  and  the  hotel  clerk  who  had  discovered 
that  Maxim  Gorky  and  the  lady  were  not  married, 
off  the  first  page — and  interviews  in  which  star 
actresses  told  how  much  moral  good  was  being  done 
by  the  play  in  which  they  were  acting  crowded 
Delmas'  remarks  back  opposite  the  Siegel-Cooper 
advertisement.  Thus,  of  an  already  lusty  seed,  did 
the  star  system  of  the  popular  theatre — for  all  the 


124  COMEDIANS   ALL 

hogsheads  of  vinegar  I  poured  upon  it — blossom 
to  its  present  sweeping  proportions.  And  why? 
Very  simply,  because  in  spite  of  such  amiable 
clowns  as  the  Nathans  of  a  decade  and  a  half  ago 
and  the  Hamiltons  of  the  present  day,  this  star 
system  is  not  the  pox  claimed  for  it,  but  actually 
a  very  valuable,  a  very  sound,  and  very  prophylac- 
tic institution. 

The  steadily  increasing  success  of  the  star  system 
is  a  tribute  to  the  superior  critical  sagacity  which 
the  mob,  as  opposed  to  the  so-called  cultivated 
minority,  on  very  rare  occasions  evinces.  It  was 
the  American  mob  that  got  the  proper  measure  of 
Maeterlinck  while  the  minority  was  still  extolling 
him  as  a  second  Shakespeare.  It  was  this  same 
mob,  that,  on  another  level,  detected  the  photo- 
graphic virtues  in  Charles  Hoyt  and  George  Ade  and 
George  Cohan  while  the  minority  saw  in  the  first 
only  a  cheap  farce  writer,  in  the  second  only  a 
slangy  buffoon  and  in  the  third  only  a  very  cocky 
young  man  who  was  given  to  singing  about  the 
American  flag  through  his  nose.  And  it  was  this 
mob  again,  and  not  the  minority,  that  first  soundly 
appraised  at  their  correct  values  such  diverse 
native  artists  as  Mark  Twain  and  Montague  Glass. 
The  theatre  mob  of  Washington,  in  the  very  teeth 
of  its  critical  minority,  first  detected  the  virtues  in 


THE   STAR   SYSTEM  125 

Barrie's  "Peter  Pan."  The  theatre  mob  of  Phila- 
delphia, in  the  teeth  of  its  critical  minority,  first 
detected  the  vitues  in  Eleanor  Gates'  "Poor  Little 
Rich  Girl."  The  theatre  mob  of  New  York,  in  the 
teeth  of  its  critical  minority,  measured  accurately 
the  virtues  of  Sheldon's  admirable  dramatization 
of  Sudermann's  "Song  of  Songs."  It  sometimes 
happens!  And  one  of  these  sometimes  is  vouch- 
safed us  in  the  mob's  acute  realization  that,  far 
from  being  a  damaging  vice,  the  star  system  has 
been  one  of  the  most  trenchant  forces  working 
toward  the  prosperity  of  a  better  American,  or 
American-presented,  drama  and  a  more  elevated 
American  cabotinage. 

Let  us  consider  the  situation.  Not  theoretically, 
but  in  terms  of  available  fact.  In  the  first  place, 
then,  is  the  star  system,  even  as  we  at  present  rather 
absurdly  have  it,  inimical  to  the  sound  presentation 
of  good  drama?  I  reply  to  the  question  by  ask- 
ing another.  Are  such  plays  as  Galsworthy's 
"Justice"  and  "Silver  Box,"  for  instance,  in  any 
way  deleted  of  artistic  force  by  the  starring  in  them 
even  of  such  variable  actors  as  the  Barrymores, 
frere  et  soeur?  Are  these  dramas  not  actually  in- 
vested with  a  greater  artistic  force  by  this  mana- 
gerial emphasis  of  the  leading  roles?  (When  the 
dramatist  places  his  emphasis  upon  a  certain  role 


126  COMEDIANS   ALL 

— as  he  does  four  times  in  five — why  should  it  be 
held  an  artistic  error  for  the  dramatist's  producer 
to  do  likewise?)  Is  the  same  author's  "Strife," 
presented  (as  it  has  been)  without  the  stress  of 
stars,  relatively  more  forceful  or  more  soundly 
composed  and  presented?  And  are  not  stars  in 
such  instances  of  an  actual  tonic  advantage,  since 
they  frequently  attract  to  worthwhile  drama  many 
susceptible  persons  who  might  otherwise  remain 
away? 

Again,  consider  the  effect  of  the  star  system  upon 
acting.  Germany,  Austria  and,  in  considerable 
measure,  France  know  no  such  greatly — and  ap- 
parently ridiculously — elaborated  starring  system 
as  the  American.  As  a  consequence,  for  all  one 
reads  to  the  contrary  in  the  learned  books  on  the 
drama  written  by  the  two-building-college  pro- 
fessors of  Mechanical  Engineering  and  Botany,  the 
general  average  of  the  acting  in  the  American 
theatre  is  at  present  of  a  quality  quite  as  good  as, 
if  not  superior  to,  that  on  any  of  the  stages  named. 
In  the  entire  theatre  of  Germany  and  Austria  in 
the  year  of  the  late  war's  outbreak  there  were  a 
number  of  actors  like  Schroth,  Albert  Heine, 
Moissi,  Grube,  Lindemann  and  Kayssler  of  a  vivid 
and  exceptional  talent;  but  the  absence  of  an  en- 
couraging and  inspiriting  star  system  had  left  the 


THE    STAR   SYSTEM  127 

rank  and  file  in  a  sorry  state  of  under-development. 
Moissi  is  a  very  much  better  tragedian  and  char- 
acter actor  than  our  star  system  has  developed  and 
Schroth  a  better  performer  of  the  average  straight 
role,  but  for  every  other  Germano-Austrian  actor 
of  any  authentic  grade  it  is  not  difficult  to  name 
at  least  two — and  in  some  cases  perhaps  as  many 
as  three — American  or  naturalized  American  or 
Anglo-American  actors.  Similarly,  while  the 
French  actor  like  Guitry  fils,  say,  is  of  course  a 
vastly  more  proficient  farceur  than  the  American, 
he  is  on  the  whole  inferior  to  the  latter  in  the 
other  instances  of  dramatic  interpretation.  For 
one  Max  Dearly  the  American  stage  can  boast  three 
or  four  equally  good,  if  not  better,  low  comedians. 
For  one  Guitry  pere^  the  American  stage  gives  you 
a  twofold  correlative  talent.  Try,  for  example, 
relatively  to  match  French  actor  for  American  star 
in  the  instances  of  Arnold  Daly,  John  Drew, 
William  Faversham,  Walter  Hampden,  David 
Warfield,  Lew  Fields,  Leo  Ditrichstein,  Fritz 
Leiber.  ... 

Coming  to  the  women,  the  case  is  even  more 
illuminating.  And  it  is  not  necessary  to  support 
one's  contention  with  the  names  of  the  American 
women  whose  right  to  stardom  has  been — or  is — 
uncontested.     Take    the    cases    of    those    whose 


128  COMEDIANS   ALL 

status  has  not  been,  is  not,  so  fully  agreed  upon. 
And  on  this  plane  search  Germany  or  Austria  or 
France  for  an  actress  capable  of  giving  a  better, 
sounder  and  more  artistically  telling  performance 
than  such  as-if-too-suddenly  manufactured  and 
professorially  scoffed  at  stars  as  the  Fenwick  of 
"The  Song  of  Songs,"  the  Ulrich  of  "Tiger  Rose," 
the  Starr  of  "The  Easiest  Way,"  the  Jolivet  of 
"Where  Ignorance  is  Bliss,"  the  Stevens  of  "The 
Unchastened  Woman,"  the  Reed  of  "Roads  of 
Destiny,"  the  Keane  of  "Romance,"  the  Ferguson 
of  "The  Strange  Woman,"  the  Taylor  of  "Mrs. 
Dakon's  Daughter."  .  .  .  Was  Ethel  Barrymore's 
talent  corrupted — was  it  not  rather  encouraged  to 
fructification — by  Frohman's  starring  of  her  when 
she  was  still  an  artistically  immature  and  merely 
very  pretty  girl?  Would  the  comedic  talent  of 
Margaret  Lawrence,  say,  be  in  any  way  encom- 
passed and  made  sterile  if  the  Selwyns  were  to 
make  a  star  of  her  tomorrow? 

The  objection  to  the  star  system  is  convention- 
ally based  upon  two  assumptions — both  of  which 
are  false.  The  first  of  these  assumptions  is  that 
it  tends  to  destroy  smooth  ensemble  performances. 
What  it  actually  does  in  the  majority  of  instances 
is  precisely  the  opposite.  In  example  whereof, 
take  at  random  any  ten  or  twelve  of  the  more  re- 


THE    STAR   SYSTEM  129 

cent  companies  with  and  without  stars,  and  com- 
pare the  ensemble  performances  of  those  contain- 
ing stars  with  the  performances  of  those  minus 
stars.  On  the  star  side  take,  for  instance,  "Tiger! 
Tiger!"  "The  Saving  Grace,"  "A  Successful 
Calamity,"  "Why  Marry,"  "The  Very  Minute," 
"Redemption,"  "The  Copperhead,"  "Mr.  Laz- 
arus," "Kismet,"  "Madame  Sand,"  "Getting 
Married"  and  "A  Marriage  of  Convenience." 
And  on  the  non-star  side,  for  example,  "Three  Wise 
Fools,"  "Daddies,"  "The  Gypsy  Trail,"  "Hush," 
"A  Little  Journey,"  "Polly  With  a  Past,"  "Magic," 
"The  Betrothal,"  "The  Devil's  Garden,"  "The 
Happy  Ending,"  "Toby's  Bow"  and  "The  In- 
visible Foe."  Compare  the  one  side  with  the  other 
and  cast  your  vote,  a  vote  that  will  assuredly  go  to 
the  star  productions  and  one  that  will  be  all  the 
more  confirmatory  since  a  fair  number  of  produc- 
tions in  both  lists  were  made  by  the  same  directors 
and  since,  further,  a  number  of  the  productions 
listed  on  the  star  side  were  purposely  selected  for 
the  comparatively  mediocre  quality  of  the  stars 
who  appeared  in  them.  Thus,  unless  I  am  greatly 
mistaken  in  your  ballot,  one  discovers  that  the 
weakness  in  ensemble  acting,  where  it  exists,  has 
often  less  to  do  with  the  star  system  than  with  the 
director  responsible  for  the  production. 


130  COMEDIANS   ALL 

The  second  characteristic  assumption  is  that  the 
system,  as  we  have  it,  is  an  evil  since  it  is  in  the 
occasional  habit  of  elevating  to  stardom  young 
women  whose  histrionic  virtuosity  is  alleged  to  be 
confined  principally  either  to  a  pretty  face  or  to 
an  openness  to  managerial  amour  that  amounts 
almost  to  Southern  hospitality — or  to  both.  This 
assumption  seems  to  me  to  wear  two  false-faces. 
In  the  first  place,  to  argue  that  the  star  system  is 
intrinsically  an  evil  because  certain  of  the  young 
lady  stars  it  has  manufactured  are  neither 
actresses  nor  virgins,  is,  as  I  see  it,  of  a  piece 
with  arguing  that  the  non-star  system  is  intrinsically 
an  evil  because  certain  of  its  male  performers  are 
neither  actors  nor  satyrs.  And  in  the  second  place, 
to  believe  that  it  is  improbable  that  a  young  woman 
may  be  possessed  simultaneously  of  a  talent  for 
concubinage  and  for  acting  is  to  bring  into  the 
argument  a  morality  as  alien  to  an  appraisal  of 
histrionic  skill  as  it  is  to  an  appraisal  of  literature. 
The  simple  truth,  of  course,  is  that  in  America, 
as  well  as  in  England,  and,  more  especially,  on  the 
Continent,  a  number  of  the  most  proficient  actresses 
of  the  present  years — to  say  nothing  of  the  past — 
have  been  graduated  to  their  estate  of  granted  pro- 
ficiency out  of  managerial  embraces. 

To  object  to  the  American  star  system  as  a 


THE   STAR   SYSTEM  131 

menace  to  acting  and  drama  on  the  ground  that  it 
occasionally  (as  within  the  last  few  months)  pops 
into  stardom  a  talentless  young  woman  who 
achieves  star  eminence  for  herself  by  the  simple 
means  of  putting  up  half  the  money  for  the  show 
or  a  talentless  actor  who  illuminates  Broadway 
with  his  name  in  Matkowsky  capitals  by  laying  out 
twelve  thousand  dollars  is  to  object  to  American 
book  publishing  as  a  menace  to  art  and  literature 
on  the  ground  that  it  occasionally  (as  within  the 
last  few  months)  pops  into  absurd  prominence  by 
means  of  extravagant  newspaper  and  book-jacket 
advertising  a  talentless  young  man  who  pays  for 
his  own  book  and  writes  personally  the  high  praise 
of  himself  or  an  equally  talentless  young  woman 
who  does  likewise.  The  star  system,  at  bottom, 
is  a  sound  and  serviceable,  a  logical  and  natural, 
institution.  And  its  frequent  abuse  may — as  I  see 
it — no  more  be  brought  as  an  argument  against 
its  fundamental  worth,  validity  and  integrity  than 
the  frequent  abuse  of  the  eyes  may  be  brought  as 
an  argument  against  the  practice  of  reading.  The 
star  system  has  proved  itself  of  undeniably  sound 
commercial  design — and  whatever  brings  the 
theatre  to  prosper  must  in  the  end,  though  the  end 
be  far  off,  be  viewed  with  critical  satisfaction. 
And  if  on  the  more  relevant  side  of  artistic  design 


132  COMEDIANS   ALL 

the  star  system  has  been  not  always  quite  so  uni- 
formly successful,  its  measure  of  comparative 
artistic  success  has  at  least  outweighed  its  measure 
of  comparative  artistic  failure.  Regarded  from 
any  plane  of  criticism  higher  than  that  from  which 
one  appraises  the  art  of  the  Sells  Brothers,  the 
art  of  even  the  best  actor  is  of  course  approxi- 
mately as  authentic  an  art  as  that  practiced  by 
Duveen,  Knoedler  or  any  other  such  merchant  in 
the  retailing  of  masterpieces.  But  estimating  it 
merely  for  what  it  is,  what  it  stands  for,  and  what 
it  seeks  to  accomplish,  the  star  system,  for  all  its 
absurdity,  is  as  valuable  to  the  theatre  as  a  pocket- 
ful of  iron  crosses  and  croix  de  guerre  is  to  the 
general  of  an  army:  it  is  a  spur  to  effort,  a  teaser 
to  glory,  a  something  to  transfix  the  gaze  of  the 
great  crowd  on  the  line  of  parade. 

Mr.  Thomas  A.  Wise  is,  in  sound  criticism,  a 
not  particularly  able  actor,  yet  as  a  star  his  Fal- 
staff  is  an  immeasurably  better  Falstaff  than  that 
of  Wilhelm  Diegelmann,  who,  because  he  is  not 
starred  in  Germany,  gives  the  native  professors 
an  excuse  to  declaim  omnisciently  against  the 
American  star  system.  Madame  Nazimova  is 
similarly  a  not  particularly  illustrious  actress,  yet 
as  a  star  her  Ibsen  performances  are  immeasur- 
ably better  than  those  of  Ida  Wiist,  of  Brahm's 


THE   AMERICAN   NEGRO     133 

famous  Lessing-Theater  company,  who — not  be- 
ing starred  in  Germany — provides  the  local 
Brunetieres  with  still  another  excuse.  Come  down 
the  list  a  bit,  and  you  will  find  analogously  that 
such  a  local  and  artistically  debatable  star  as 
Ruth  Chatterton  is,  though  debatable,  yet  pos- 
sessed of  an  actually  greater  skill  than  such  a 
French  non-star  as  the  Mile.  Sylvie  who  plays  in 
Paris  the  same  kind  of  parts  that  the  Chatterton 
plays  in  New  York.  And  the  same  thing  holds 
true  in  the  cases  of  Billie  Burke  and  Marthe 
Regnier.  If  Desjardins  isn't  starred  in  France 
and  Henry  Dixey  is  starred  in  America,  it  is, 
quite  properly,  because  Dixey  is  really  the  better 
and  more  deserving  actor.  And  if  Brule  isn't 
starred  in  France  and  William  Gillette  is  starred 
in  America  in  the  same  kind  of  roles,  it  is  simi- 
larly because  Gillette,  being  the  more  effective 
performer,  deserves  to  be  starred. 

§  31 

The  American  Negro. — It  is  one  of  the  com- 
monest delusions  that  the  American  negro  is  by 
nature  a  musical  fellow.  The  truth,  of  course, 
is  that  he  is  not  at  all  musical,  but  rather  merely 
rhythmical.     He  has  an  acute  feeling  for  rhythm, 


134  COMEDIANS   ALL 

but  of  music  he  knows  nothing.  It  is,  indeed,  as 
rare  to  find  a  black  American  who  knows  anything 
about  music  as  it  is  to  find  a  white  American.  .  .  . 
The  negro,  with  his  unusual  sense  of  rhythm,  is 
no  more  accurately  to  be  called  musical  than  a 
metronome  is  to  be  called  a  Swiss  music-box. 

§  32 

The  Shaw  Imitation. — The  average  imitator  of 
Shaw  appears  to  believe  that  the  best  way  to  write 
a  Shaw  play  is  first  to  write  one's  own  play  and 
then — without  changing  a  line  of  dialogue — by 
transfering  the  names  of  the  male  characters  to 
the  women  characters  and  vice  versa,  to  put  the 
male  sentiments  in  the  women's  mouths  and  the 
women's  ideas  in  the  men's;  and,  this  done,  to 
cause  one  character  to  quote  Schopenhauer  and 
then  bring  into  debate  with  that  character  another 
character  who  contrives  to  floor  him  with  a  wheeze 
of  W.  S.  Gilbert,  soberly  expounded. 

The  fault  of  Shaw's  imitators  is  that  they  are 
successful  in  imitating  Shaw's  garrulity  without 
being  successful  in  imitating  the  substance  of 
Shaw's  garrulity.  Anyone  can  easily  and  success- 
fully imitate  a  dramatist  such,  for  instance,  as 
Henri  Kistemaekers,  since  the  latter  is  merely  ver- 


SUBTERFUGE  135 

bose  in  a  hollow,  empty  way ;  but  it  is  another  thing 
to  imitate  with  any  degree  of  closeness  an  agile 
writer  like  Shaw.  For  the  more  closely  a  writer 
imitates  Shaw,  the  more  apparent  becomes  the  wide 
difference  between  them.  In  example,  where  a 
more  successful  imitator  of  Shaw  than  Wedekind, 
or  Ilgenstein,  or  Otto  Soyka,  or  Freksa,  or  Gustav 
Wied — and  where  figures  more  distant  each  in 
turn  from  the  original?  Or,  to  turn  to  Shaw  him- 
self, where  a  closer  imitator  (in  "The  Phil- 
anderer") of  the  Amo  Holz  attitude  in  "Die  Sozial- 
aristokraten" — yet  where  two  men  farther  apart? 

§  33 

On  Drama  and  Acting. — Drama  is  the  art  of  ex- 
pressing artificially  what  is  felt  naturally.  Act- 
ing, the  art  of  expressing  naturally  what  is  felt 
artificially. 

§  34 

Subterfuge. — It  is  the  common  custom  of  the 
playwright  who  is  desirous  of  exhibiting  himself 
in  the  light  of  a  brilliant  philosopher  but  who  is 
unable  to  think  up  anything  brilliant  to  say,  to 
resort  to  the  theatrical  trick  of  trying  to  confound 
criticism  by  putting  the  very  best  things  he  is  able 


136  COMEDIANS    ALL 

to  think  of  in  the  mouth  of  his  hero  and  then,  upon 
their  being  spoken  by  the  hero,  causing  another 
character  to  observe  that  the  aforesaid  hero  talks 
like  a  sophomore. 

§  35 

War,  Peace  and  the  Drama. — ^Why  a  great  war 
should  nine  times  in  ten  inspire  the  contem- 
poraneous theatre  to  little  more  than  the  composi- 
tion of  trivial  Phillips  Oppenheim-Anna  Katherine 
Green  fables  must  be  explained  by  the  same  per- 
son who  can  tell  why  a  great  historical  figure  should 
nine  times  in  ten  generally  inspire  the  theatre 
to  little  more  than  washboiler  melodrama  (Lin- 
coln in  "The  Ensign"),  chasings  after  scraps  of 
paper  ("Colonel  Cromwell"),  and  superintend- 
ings  of  ingenue  amours  ("Disraeli").  The  war, 
or  military,  play  of  respectable  quality  is  bom 
not  of  war,  but  of  peace.  Where  peace  gives  birth 
to  a  Galsworthy's  "The  Mob"  in  England,  war 
gives  birth  only  to  spy-plot  pot-boilers  like  "The 
Man  with  the  Club  Foot"  and  "The  Live  Wire." 
Where  peace  gives  birth  to  Von  Beyerlein's  "Taps" 
in  Germany,  war  gives  birth  only  to  the  same  kind 
of  spy -plot  pot-boilers  on  the  stages  to  the  north  and 
south  of  the  Rosetheater.  And  for  one  peace- 
time "L'Aiglon"  in  France,  war  breeds  nothing  but 


THE   CRITICAL   STRICTURE     137 

countless  spy  yellow-backs  like  "Alsace,"  just  as 
for  one  peace-time  Roda  Roda's  "Feldhermhugel" 
in  Austria,  war  belches  forth  nothing  but  trash  of 
the  accent  of  Flamm's  "Soldier's  Child." 

§  36 

The  Critical  Stricture. — That  the  wildest  im- 
probability may  be  taken  for  the  postulate  of  a 
play  is  a  theory  which  regularly  projects  the 
majority  of  our  critics  into  something  of  a  sweat. 
They  charge  the  air  with  gaudy  dicta  on  the  unity 
of  this  or  that,  on  the  holding  up  of  the  mirror, 
on  the  quality  of  reasonability  in  the  initial  pre- 
mise and  on  many  other  such  whim-whams  about 
which  the  person  seeking  amusement  in  a  theatre 
gives  not  a  continental.  Forgetting,  as  has  often 
been  pointed  out,  that,  from  four  hundred  and  sixty- 
eight  years  before  the  birth  of  Christ — when  the 
most  successful  play  of  the  day  ("CEdipus  Rex") 
showed  its  audience  a  hero  who,  when  he  came  on 
the  stage,  had  been  married  for  twelve  years  to  his 
own  mother,  who,  in  turn,  throughout  all  that  time 
had  never  had  a  talk  with  him  on  the  past  which 
might  have  given  him  any  suspicion  of  her  indentity 
or  of  the  fact  that  he  had  murdered  his  own  father 
— down  to  the  present  time,  when  one  of  the  sue- 


138  COMEDIANS   ALL 

cessful  plays  of  the  day  ("Justice")  thoroughly 
convinces  its  New  York  audiences  of  its  local  ap- 
plicability despite  its  New  York  audiences'  non- 
recognition  of  section  887  of  the  Penal  Law  and 
section  2,188  of  the  Penal  Code,  which  make  the 
play,  from  the  local  and  native  point  of  view, 
ridiculous — forgetting,  as  I  say,  that  improbability 
has  utterly  nothing  to  do  with  a  play's  chances 
for  success  and  effectiveness,  whether  commer- 
cially or  artistically. 

One  of  the  most  recent  plays  to  come  in  for  such 
strictures  is — a  farce,  to  boot,  mind — the  "Good 
Gracious  Annabelle"  of  Clare  Kummer,  a  deliber- 
ately fantastic  affair  designed  only,  by  a  wild  dis- 
charge of  artless  humours,  to  jabberwock  its  audi- 
tors and  give  them  a  bit  of  careless  fun  in  the  play- 
house. These  strictures  are  not  difficult  to  expect, 
since  they  are  ever  vouchsafed  us  by  the  pro- 
fessors when  a  piece  slightly  different  from  the  gen- 
eral is  brought  to  the  community's  attention.  They 
appeared  in  full  force,  it  is  interesting  to  recall, 
when  twenty-seven  years  ago  "Paris  Fin  de  Siecle" 
was  charming  the  French  capital  and  when  "The 
Cabinet  Minister"  was  crowding  the  theatres  of 
the  British.  And  the  critical  strictures  were  in 
these  instances  largely  of  a  piece  with  the  critical 
strictures  more  recently  visited  upon  the  entertain- 


THE    CRITICAL   STRICTURE     139 

ing  play  by  Miss  Kummer.  To  object,  as  objec- 
tion is  made,  to  the  antic  unreality  of  Miss  Kum- 
mer's  little  play,  is  to  object  to  the  final  scene  of 
Augier's  "Le  Gendre  de  M.  Poirier" — the  best 
scene  in  the  play  and  probably  Augier's  best  frag- 
ment of  dramatic  composition.  Another  recent 
play,  "Come  Out  of  the  Kitchen,"  by  A.  E. 
Thomas  out  of  a  novel  by  somebody  or  other, 
concerns  itself  with  a  story  the  same  as  that  em- 
ployed by  Miss  Kummer.  And  this  same  story 
it  handles  with  a  precise  regard  for  all  those  rule- 
books  of  technic  so  close  to  the  fancy  of  the  grave 
and  literal-minded  critic.  And  the  result?  The 
play  is  not  only  not  one-tenth  so  amusing  as  Miss 
Kummer's  play,  but,  into  the  bargain,  it  is  a  sub- 
stantial fact  that — so  far  as  the  story  goes — "Come 
Out  of  the  Kitchen"  actually  isn't  one-half  so 
convincing  as  the  latter!  Mr.  Thomas  elects  to 
treat  the  fable  of  the  aristocrat  turned  servant  as 
rational  comedy;  Miss  Kummer  elects  to  treat  it 
as  moonstruck  farce.  The  theatrical  value  of  the 
latter  approach  must  be  at  once  patent.  By  initi- 
ally assuring  the  audience  that  the  theme  is  quite 
absurd.  Miss  Kummer  needs  only,  to  achieve  suc- 
cess, concern  herself  with  making  her  spectators 
laugh.  To  the  contrary,  by  initially  assuring  the 
audience  that  the  theme  is  a  semi-serious  one,  Mr. 


140  COMEDIANS   ALL 

Thomas  (being  no  Oliver  Goldsmith)  is  com- 
pelled through  the  rest  of  the  evening  not  only  to 
devise  ways  and  means  to  amuse  his  spectators,  but 
in  addition  must  waste  a  considerable  and  valu- 
able portion  of  his  allotted  two  hours  in  per- 
suading his  audience  periodically  of  the  reason- 
ability  of  his  characters  and  his  characters'  ac- 
tions. The  difference  'twixt  the  two  entertainments 
is,  therefore,  the  usual  difference  'twixt  local 
comedy  and  farce.  The  former  is  more  often 
than  not  merely  the  latter  without  a  sense  of  hu- 
mour. 

Again,  contrary  to  the  prevalent  critical  notion 
that  Miss  Kummer's  plays  are  (I  quote  the  ga- 
zettes) "diffuse,"  "formless,"  "loosely  and  care- 
lessly knit"  and  "of  an  irresponsible  and  slipshod 
technique,"  the  truth  is  that  for  all  their  surface 
appearance  of  formlessness  and  technical  in- 
felicity they  actually  follow  a  very  definite  and 
symmetrical  design.  To  say  that  the  plays  would 
be  better  plays  were  they  of  a  more  symmetrical 
construction  is  arbitrarily  to  say  that  the  straight 
street  of  a  city  is  a  more  lovely  place  to  linger 
in  than  a  crooked  country  lane.  Miss  Kummer's 
plays,  if  the  word  formlessness  must  be  used,  are 
formless  not  in  the  sense  that  a  bad  piece  of 
literature  is  formless,  but  in  the  sense  that  a  good 


THE  CRITICAL  STRICTURE  141 
piece  of  literature — the  "Professor  Bemhardi"  of 
Schnitzler,  say,  or  the  "Weavers"  of  Hauptmann, 
or  the  "Peter  Pan"  of  Barrie,  or  the  "Pasteur" 
of  Sacha  Guitry,  or,  to  descend  in  the  scale,  one  or 
two  of  the  farces  of  Hoyt — is  formless.  Formless- 
ness is  frequently  not  a  fault,  but  a  virtue  of  rich 
blossom.  Consider,  in  fine,  Strindberg's  "Dream 
Play"  .  .  .  Chopin's  sonata  in  B  flat  minor  .  .  . 
the  poetry  of  Yeats.  .  .  .  The  work  of  Miss  Kum- 
mer,  if  it  lacks  technique,  lacks  technique  in  the 
sense  that  a  little  child  dancing  merrily  to  a  spring- 
time hurdy-gurdy  lacks  it — and,  contrariwise,  in 
the  sense  that  Gertrude  Hoffmann  possesses  it. 

Not  less  ridiculous  than  these  criticisms  of  Miss 
Kummer's  work  are  the  majority  of  criticisms 
directed  against  Langdon  Mitchell's  dramatization 
of  Thackeray's  novel,  "Pendennis."  It  has  been 
made  the  subject  of  vigorous  critical  objection  that 
Mr.  Mitchell  has,  in  his  dramatization  of  the  novel, 
omitted  all  drama.  Which,  in  view  of  the  circum- 
stance that  in  the  novel  itself  there  is  no  drama 
(i.  e.,  drama  of  the  spasm  sort  that  physics  pleasur- 
ably  what  Thackeray  himself  was  fond  of  allud- 
ing to  as  "that  great  baby,  the  public"),  seems 
just  a  trifle  like  lamenting  that  Rostand,  in  pre- 
paring the  story  of  Savinien  Cyrano  de  Bergerac 
for  the  stage,  did  not  make  the  play  more  romantic 


142  COMEDIANS   ALL 

for  Coquelin's  and  Mr.  Mansfield's  lady  admirers 

by  giving  Cyrano  a  more  lovely  nose. 

To  object  to  a  dramatization  of  "Pendennis"  is 
an  objection  truly  not  without  a  measure  of  com- 
mon sense.  But  to  object  to  an  undramatic  drama- 
tization of  "Pendennis"  is  to  object  to  Paderewski 
because  he  doesn't  play  the  violin.  Mr.  Mitchell's 
purpose  was  to  lift  Thackeray  onto  the  stage.  It 
was  apparently  Mr.  Mitchell's  critics'  desire  that 
he  lift  the  stage  onto  Thackeray.  The  notion  that 
the  stage,  then,  is  not  the  place  for  an  undramatic 
story  such  as  this,  is  the  sort  of  notion  that  would 
bar  from  the  theatre  all  manuscripts  like  "Anatol" 
and  "Patriots"  and  welcome  in  their  stead  chiefly 
such  as  "The  Queen  of  the  Opium  Ring"  and  "The 
Witching  Hour." 

§  37 

The  Actor  Play. — An  actor  views  a  play  not  in 
terms  of  composite  drama,  but  in  terms  of  its  in- 
dividual roles.  It  is  consequently  not  unnatural 
that  we  find  that  when  an  actor  composes  a  play 
for  his  own  use  he  more  often  than  not  writes  a 
luxuriant  part  for  himself  and  completely  forgets 
to  write  a  play  around  the  part.  When  an  actor 
attempts  the  negotiation  of  satire,  an  especial 
marasmus  is  on  the  world.     Actors  have  written 


AUGUSTUS  THOMAS  143 
successful  drama,  comedy,  burlesque,  farce — but 
satire,  the  edelweiss  of  literature,  has  generally 
been  far  above  their  reach. 

§  38 

The  Drama  of  Augustus  Thomas. — The  drama  of 
Augustus  Thomas  is  the  condensation  of  the  pro- 
tagonist's lifetime  into  two  hours  and  the  expan- 
sion of  the  theatregoer's  two  hours  into  a  lifetime. 
The  so-called  technique  of  this  playwright  is  so 
perfect  that  it  completely  obscures  his  drama. 
Every  exit  and  entrance,  every  pince-nez  that  is  to 
be  broken  at  a  critical  moment,  every  bandage  that 
is  to  be  found  germ-infected  and  bring  about  a 
character's  death,  is  planted  with  a  so  thorough  as- 
siduity that,  once  the  first  half  of  the  preparation 
is  done  with,  nothing  remains  but  to  hang  around 
and  watch  the  plants  work.  True,  pastime  may 
be  found  the  while  in  giving  ear  to  such  of  the 
playwright's  tony  Broadwayisms  as  "the  chemistry 
of  motivation,"  "the  chemistry  of  things  spiritual," 
and  the  like,  and  to  his  seriously  intended  love 
scenes  wherein  the  hero  informs  the  heroine,  in 
voice  a-thrill  with  fervour,  that  she  is  "an  angelic, 
delectable  baby"  (the  quotation — from  "Rio 
Grande" — is  literal!),  yet  in  the  main  the  evening 


144  COMEDIANS   ALL 

reveals  itself  as  a  mere  lecture  by  Thomas  on 
"How  To  Write  A  Play,"  a  laboratorical  evening 
proving  to  the  further  satisfaction  of  the  students 
of  Professor  George  Pierce  Baker  that,  with  pro- 
tracted schooling  and  practice,  one  may  become 
sufficiently  proficient  in  what  is  termed  dramatic 
technique  to  write  anything  for  the  stage  but  drama. 

§  39 

Sentiment  and  Avoirdupois. — It  is  probable  that 
the  refractorily  comic  aspect  of  many  a  play- 
wright's sentimental  work  is  often  heightened  by 
the  experienced  lady  to  whom  the  playwright's 
producer  entrusts  the  leading  role.  The  lady — so 
one  on  such  occasions  generally  reads  in  the  en- 
thusiastic reviews  of  the  play — "is  possessed  of  no 
small  histrionic  skill"  and,  after  witnessing  her 
performance,  one  is  disposed  emphatically  to  agree. 
For  so  great,  indeed,  is  generally  the  lady's  his- 
trionic skill  that  once  she  sits  upon  it  during  a 
sentimental  floor  scene  she  is  unable  subsequently 
to  get  to  her  feet  again  without  the  robust  aid  of  the 
leading  man. 

Sentiment  demands  slendemess.  The  moment 
sentiment  weighs  one  hundred  and  thirty-five 
pounds,  it  becomes  comedy;  the  moment  it  touches 


THE  RELIGIOUS  PLAY  145 
one  hundred  and  thirty-six,  it  becomes  farce;  the 
moment  it  touches  one  hundred  and  forty,  it  be- 
comes burlesque.  The  best  piece  of  criticism  ever 
set  to  paper  in  this  regard  was  written  by  the  late 
Charles  H.  Hoyt  when  he  was  the  dramatic  critic 
of  the  Boston  Herald.  He  wrote  it  after  witness- 
ing the  performance,  in  a  sentimental  role,  of  Miss 
Lily  Langtry.  And  this  one  piece  of  criticism 
doubtless  did  more  for  the  future  American  drama 
than  any  thousand  pieces  of  criticism  written  pre- 
viously or  since.  The  day  it  appeared  Hoyt  was 
promptly  discharged — and  became  a  playwright. 

§  40 

The  Religious  Play. — Since  the  average  New 
York  audience  is  usually  made  up  for  the  most  part 
of  Jews,  a  religious  or  racial  play  that  abstains 
from  an  excessive  adulation  of  Jewry  is  predestined 
to  failure.  Such  a  play  stands  small  chance  of 
financial  success  unless  it  brings  down  its  big  cur- 
tain on  a  rosy  piece  of  verbal  fireworks  in  which 
Jesus  Christ,  Disraeli  and  Jacob  Schiff  are  pro- 
claimed as  belonging  to  the  same  race,  and  unless 
it  brings  down  its  final  curtain  with  the  discovery 
that  not  Milton  Rosenbaum,  but  the  low  Patrick 
McCarthy,  was  the  man  who  actually  stole  the 


146  COMEDIANS   ALL 

money.  Any  variation  of  the  theme  is  bound  to 
offend  the  tender  sensibilities  of  the  theatregoing 
Anglo-Oriental.  And,  further,  any  variation  is 
bound  to  come  in  for  gamy  cracks  at  the  hands  of 
the  newspaper  play  reviewers,  since  an  enthusiastic 
record  of  a  play  that  handles  the  racial  question 
without  thick  gloves  would  not  be  likely  to  drive 
crazy  with  joy  the  Messrs.  Gimbel,  Altman,  Saks, 
Stem,  Greenhut,  Abraham  &  Straus,  and  the  rest 
of  the  full-page  advertisers. 

This  attitude  on  the  part  of  audience  and  re- 
viewer is  instrumental  in  producing  a  hundred 
"Melting  Pots"  and  "Little  Brothers"  for  one  "Con- 
sequences," a  hundred  "Houses  Next  Door"  and 
"Five  Frankfurters"  for  one  play  like  "The  Gen- 
tile Wife,"  a  hundred  fountains  of  hypocritical 
pulvil  for  one  decent  piece  of  writing  that  ventures 
to  look  upon  its  subject  matter  intelligently,  calmly, 
decently  and  fairly.  .  .  .  Our  popular  theatre, 
however,  is  a  bizarre  institution  in  any  direction 
when  its  stage  is  occupied  with  a  religious  question 
— whether  that  question  be  Christian,  Jew  or  Bud- 
dhist. It  sees  nothing  profane  or  blasphemous  in 
presenting  the  Saviour  as  a  sizzling  spotlight  ("Ben 
Hur")  or  as  the  inventor  of  a  death-dealing  sub- 
marine (in  the  motion  picture  "Civilization")  or  as 
an  uncouth  actor  ("The  Servant  in  the  House"),  yet 


THE   RELIGIOUS   PLAY      147 

it  shrinks — particularly  in  its  Mosaic  managerial 
departments — from  such  reverent  and  gentle  and 
very  beautiful  things  as  Brieux's  "Faith"  and 
Andreyev's  "Savva."  The  obvious  sacrilege  of 
such  mossback  diddlers  as  "The  Terrible  Meek" 
and  "Marie-Odile" — exhibitions  of  evil  taste 
aimed  directly  at  the  box-office — it  hearkens  to  in 
awe  and  in  devout  silence.  It  views  a  team  of 
asthmatic  nags  toting  a  papier-mache  chariot  over  a 
treadmill  or  a  baby  spotlight  halo-ing  a  scheduled 
ingenue  or  a  number  of  stagehands  mimicking  the 
roars  of  hungry  lions  as  an  exalting  religious  spec- 
tacle, while  it  the  meanwhile  is  somewhat  puzzled  as 
how  to  conduct  its  feelings  and  attitudes  toward 
such  a  presentation  as  Shaw's  "Androcles". . .  .  Re- 
ligion, so  far  as  the  theatre  is  concerned,  is  much 
like  a  cigar.  A  cigar,  however  good,  is  not  palat- 
able when  smoked  in  the  brilliant  sunlight.  A 
religious  theme,  however  sound,  is  distasteful  when 
aired  in  the  brilliant  glare  of  the  footlights. 

§  41 

La  Voix  d'Or. — That  a  rich  low  speaking  voice 
generally  bespeaks  generations  of  cultural  breed- 
ing and  background  is  one  of  the  commonest  of 
American-held  social  and  critical  fallacies.     The 


148  COMEDIANS   ALL 

so-called  rich  low  speaking  voice  is  found  in  Amer- 
ica to  be  regularly  less  the  inheritance  of  aristoc- 
racy than  the  inheritance  of  an  engagement  in 
"The  Lady  of  Lyons,"  a  medical  specialization  in 
women's  diseases  or  a  waiting  on  table  in  a  first- 
class  restaurant.  The  speaking  voice  of  Mrs. 
Astor  in  infinitely  less  "aristocratic"  than  that  of  a 
third-rate  Broadway  actress.  The  speaking  voice 
of  Hamilton  Fish,  compared  with  that  of  a  Ritz 
headwaiter,  sounds  like  a  foghorn. 

§  42 

Plays  of  Caste. — It  is  the  general  contention 
of  American  critics  of  the  drama  that  a  play  whose 
theme  relates  to  British  class  prejudice  and  seeks 
to  exhibit  the  results  of  an  amorous  collision  of 
caste  and  proletariat  cannot  possibly  succeed  in  in- 
teresting American  audiences  since — I  quote  the 
common  observation — "in  this  country  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  caste,"  etc.  Such  critical  flag-wag- 
ging is  the  veriest  gibberish.  Not  only,  of  course, 
is  there  quite  as  much  class  distinction  in  this 
country  as  in  England — if,  indeed,  not  vastly  more 
— ^but,  what  is  more  directly  to  the  point,  plays  with 
precisely  the  same  basic  theme  have  regularly  suc- 
ceeded in  interesting  American  audiences.     The 


THE    PROTEAN    PLAY        149 

eternal  "Iron  Master"  (with  perhaps  its  American 
derivative  "The  Boss"),  "The  Lost  Paradise," 
"Old  Heidelberg,"  "Trelawney,"  ...  the  innu- 
merable native  plays  wherein  the  family  of  wealth 
and  position  opposes  its  son's  marriage  to  a  poor 
working  girl  or  its  daughter's  marriage  to  a  young 
commoner  ...  all  are  intrinsically  of  the  class 
versus  mass  posture.  The  Lords  and  Ladies  of 
Tom  Robertson  and  the  Misters  and  Missuses  of 
Owen  Davis  {vide  "Forever  After,"  which  played 
an  entire  season  in  New  York  alone)  are  brothers 
and  sisters  under  their  skins. 

§  43  . 

The  Protean  Play. — That  a  four-act  play  of  the 
nature,  for  example,  of  "Under  Orders,"  acted  in 
its  entirety  by  a  cast  composed  of  but  two  players,  is 
interesting  is  not  to  be  denied.  But  that  the  quality 
of  interest  aroused  is  precisely  akin  to  that  aroused 
by  a  man  playing  a  banjo  with  his  toes — and  that, 
incidentally,  the  quality  of  the  resulting  drama  is 
of  a  piece  with  the  quality  of  the  resulting  music — 
is  to  be  denied  no  less.  Such  a  play  is  to  drama 
very  largely  what  the  vaudeville  mind-readers 
named  the  Zanzigs  are  to  Sigmund  Freud.  Just 
as  with  the  Zanzigs  a  member  of  the  audience  is 


150  COMEDIANS   ALL 

pricked  up  vastly  less  by  being  told  that  what  he 
is  holding  in  his  hand  is  a  plumber's  license  than  by 
guessing  how  the  Zanzigs  did  it,  so  with  a  play  of 
this  kind  is  a  member  of  the  audience  made  curious 
much  less  by  the  progress  of  the  drama  than  by 
speculating  how  two  lone  actors  are  going  to  fur- 
ther the  progress  of  that  drama.  That  the  play- 
wright in  such  an  instance  writes  a  play  for  two  ac- 
tors less  than  he  writes  two  actors  for  a  play  is, 
of  course,  obvious.  And  while  it  is  readily  to  be 
allowed  that  he  may  maneuver  his  trick  dexterously, 
the  fact  remains  that  all  that  remains  is  this  trick. 
And  a  trick,  alas,  is  no  more  profound  drama  than 
pulling  goldfish  out  of  an  ink-well  is  deep-sea  fish- 
ing. 

§  44 

On  Aesthetic  Dancing. — The  numerous  schools 
and  cults  of  aesthetic  dancing,  interior  and  al 
fresco,  are  doubtless  grounded  less  on  the  honest 
desire  to  make  a  beautiful  art  of  the  dance  than  on 
the  Freudian  desire  of  unwanted  vestals  to  play  in- 
directly, yet  satisfactorily,  with  the  masculine  pas- 
sions. A  bevy  of  women  running  half  naked 
around  Central  Park  is  not  nearly  so  intent  upon 
enthroning  Terpsichore  in  her  niche  in  the  temple 
of  the  beaux  arts  as  upon  watching  the  effect  on  the 


W.    SOMERSET   MAUGHAM     151 

park  policeman  out  of  the  comers  of  its  eyes.  The 
unloved  woman  with  legs  gnarled  and  knotted  like 
a  rustic  bench,  galloping  across  the  grass  plots 
in  a  sheet  and  a  diaper,  thus  takes  out  her  sinister 
revenge.  No  women  half-way  admired  by  men, 
and  loved  by  men,  go  in  for  undressing  in  public, 
whatever  the  artistic  purport  of  their  intentions, 
save  possibly  upon  the  stage.  The  moment  a 
woman  runs  around  Pelham  in  the  daylight  clad 
only  in  a  bed  sheet,  under  the  dubious  impression 
that  she  is  Psyche  in  the  Arcadian  Wood,  that  mo- 
ment is  it  certain  that  she  has  reached  the  conclu- 
sion that  her  charms  are  unavailing  against  the  for- 
tress that  is  man.  The  schools  and  cults  of  aesthetic 
dancing  are  filled  with  left-overs,  wall-flowers. 
These  schools  and  cults  are  to  art  what  the  Japan- 
ese punk  stick  is  to  an  old  maids'  tea-room. 

§  45 

W.  Somerset  Maugham. — It  is  one  of  the  char- 
acteristics of  W.  Somerset  Maugham's  so-called 
epigrammatic  comedies — so  painstaking  and  ob- 
vious are  the  author's  plants  and  cues  for  bright 
lines — that  one  knows  in  advance  precisely  what 
his  characters  are  going  to  say  and  that  one  then 
finds  that  what  one  thought  they  were  going  to 


152  COMEDIANS   ALL 

say  is  much  brighter  than  what  they  really  do  say. 
For  example,  when  in  his  play,  "Caroline,"  his 
elderly  and  already  somewhat  skeptic  lovers,  dis- 
cussing prosaically  their  forthcoming  wedded  life, 
suddenly  begin  quarreling  over  their  union,  one 
knows  that  what  will  follow  will  be  the  man's  con- 
ciliatory "There,  there,  dear  Caroline;  let  us  look 
on  our  coming  marriage  merely  as  a  disagreement 
to  agree."  But  what  actually  follows  is  the  man's 
"Let's  not  quarrel  now,  Caroline;  we  will  have 
plenty  of  time  to  quarrel  after  we're  married" — 
a  line  favourite  of  every  team  of  gas-house  comed- 
ians in  the  small-time  vaudevilles.  And  so  it  goes. 
That  there  is  a  certain  graceful  quality  to 
Maugham's  writing,  that  he  writes  a  more  engag- 
ing English  than  the  majority  of  quill-drivers 
who  contribute  to  the  stage  of  our  own  country, 
is  a  matter  scarcely  open  to  question.  But  that  he 
is  a  wit  or  a  writer  possessed  of  even  a  facile 
cleverness  is  a  thing  of  another  colour.  The  Amer- 
ican newspaper  comparison  of  his  play,  "Caroline," 
with  the  comedies  of  Oscar  Wilde  is  surely  a  some- 
thing to  jounce  the  humours.  In  all  of  the  play, 
from  beginning  to  end,  there  isn't  one-tenth  the 
wit  of  the  American  Tom  Barry's  "Upstart"  which 
was  ridiculed  out  of  court  by  the  daily  gazettes 
after  a  few  performances  several  years  ago  in  the 


W.    SOMERSET   MAUGHAM     153 

Maxine  Elliott  Theatre,  one  twentieth  the  wit  of  the 
American  George  Bronson  Howard's  "Snobs"  which 
suffered  a  like  fate  at  the  Hudson  Theatre — or 
one-fiftieth  the  wit  of  Mencken's  recent  brew  of 
speculations  enclosed  between  the  covers  of  "A 
Little  Book  in  C  Major."  If  you  are  one  to  doubt, 
compare  Maugham's  "Marriage  doesn't  change  a 
woman  much.  She  remains  just  the  same,  only 
more  so,"  with  Mencken's  "The  charm  of  a  man  is 
measured  by  the  charm  of  the  women  who  think 
that  he  is  a  scoundrel."  Or  Maugham's  "Men 
don't  want  to  marry.  It's  not  their  nature.  You 
have  to  give  them  a  little  push  or  you'll  never  bring 
them  to  it,"  with  Mencken's  "How  little  it  takes  to 
make  life  perfect!  A  good  sauce,  a  cocktail  after 
a  hard  day,  a  girl  who  kisses  with  her  mouth  half 
open!"  Or  Maugham's  "Women  make  such  a  dis- 
tinction between  the  truth  and  the  true  truth"  with 
Mencken's  "Since  Shakespeare's  day  more  than  a 
thousand  different  actors  have  played  Hamlet.  No 
wonder  he  is  crazy!"  Or  the  former's  "It  is  in 
railway  stations  that  a  man  shows  his  superiority 
to  a  woman"  with  the  latter's  "The  one  unanswer- 
able objection  to  Christianity  is  that  the  God  it  asks 
us  to  worship,  if  the  descriptions  of  its  official 
spokesmen  are  to  be  believed,  is  a  vastly  less  vener- 
able personage  than  Ludwig  van  Beethoven."     Or 


154  COMEDIANS   ALL 

the  former's  "Nothing  is  so  pleasant  as  to  think  of 
the  sacrifices  one  will  never  have  to  make"  with  the 
latter's  "When  a  husband's  story  is  believed,  he 
begins  to  suspect  his  wife." 

But  I  prove  here  what  is  already  perfectly  known. 
Maugham  is  merely  a  pretty  juggler  of  pretty  words 
who  blithesomely  tosses  them  aloft  and  lets  them 
fall  about  him  in  indiscriminate,  pretty  little  piles 
that  have  plenty  of  cake-frosting  but  little  meaning 
and  less  humour. 

§  46 

The  Risque  Britisher. — It  is,  generally,  as  diffi- 
cult for  an  English  playwright  to  be  adroitly  risque 
as  it  is  for  a  married  woman.  The  Britisher  who 
essays  to  write  an  adroitly  risque  little  play  is  most 
often  as  light  and  devilish  as  a  German  dancing  the 
tango.  With  the  exception  of  Pinero's  "Wife 
Without  a  Smile"  I  am  unable  to  summon  to  mind 
a  single  modishly  naughty  British  play  possessed 
of  that  delicate  touch  so  imperatively  necessary  to 
such  affairs.  No  sooner  does  the  British  author 
affect  a  momentary  mood  of  wickedness  than  he  be- 
comes nervously  frantic  immediately  the  moment 
is  over  with  to  explain  at  great  and  serious  length 
that  what  went  before  was  intrinsically  impeccable 
from  any  angle  of  morality  from  which  his  audi- 


CHARACTER   ACTORS        155 

ence  may  have  elected  to  regard  it.  The  moment 
a  bashful  double  entente  peeks  furtively  around 
the  corner  of  the  proscenium  arch,  out  dashes  the 
playwright  armed  with  swabbing  instruments  and 
antitoxins.  The  evening,  in  brief,  amounts  to 
three  acts  of  apology  interrupted  at  intervals  by 
pseudo-compromising  situations  of  the  sort  that  go 
to  make  up  the  violent  serials  in  the  Ladies  Home 
Journal. 

§  47 

Vaudeville. — Vaudeville  is  a  species  of  enter- 
tainment derived  from  the  dregs  of  drama  and 
musical  comedy  assembled  in  such  wise  that  they 
shall  appeal  to  the  dregs  of  drama  and  musical 
comedy  audiences. 

§  48 

Two  Celebrated  American  Character  Actors. — It 
is  claimed  by  many  of  my  colleagues  that  George 
Arliss  is  America's  most  expert  character  actor. 
And  indeed,  by  this  time,  he  should  be.  For  he 
has  been  acting  that  character  for  longer  than  I  am 
able  to  remember.  True  enough,  now  the  character 
has  been  named  Zakkuri  ("The  Darling  of  the 
Gods"),  now  the  Devil,  and  now  Disraeli  (in  the 
plays  so  titled),  now  again  Paganini  and  now  still 


156  COMEDIANS   ALL 

again  Hamilton  (in  the  plays  so  called),  but  what- 
ever the  designation,  Mr.  Arliss'  interpretation  of 
the  character  is  ever  the  same.  The  slit-eyed  peer, 
the  nervous  hands,  the  velvet  tread,  the  Ralph  Herz 
delivery — they  never  vary.  The  difference  be- 
tween Mr.  Arliss'  Disraeli  and  Paganini,  as  the  dif- 
ference between  his  Zakkuri  and  his  Devil,  is 
merely  a  matter  of  make-up.  A  pleasant  actor  the 
man  is;  but  a  versatile  actor,  or  an  actor  possessed 
of  very  real  skill,  certainly  not.  Otis  Skinner,  like 
Arliss,  is  also  a  one-part  actor.  His  characteriza- 
tions vary  only  in  the  tint  of  grease-paint  with  which 
he  colours  his  face.  The  difference  between  his 
Anthony  Bellchamber,  English  actor,  and  his  An- 
tonio Camaradonio,  Italian  organ-grinder,  for  ex- 
ample, is  but  the  difference  between  Hess'  No.  9 
(healthy  pink)  and  a  grayish  wig  and  Hess'  No.  12 
(healthy  olive)  and  a  black  wig.  Otherwise,  all 
is  as  one:  the  flourish  of  gesture,  the  cocking  of 
the  eye,  the  slap  upon  the  expanded  chest,  the  ele- 
vation of  the  right  shoulder,  the  hat  upon  one  ear, 
the  running  of  the  scale  with  the  speaking  voice, 
the  posture  debonnaire,  the  backs  of  the  palms  sup- 
porting the  chin,  and  the  smiling  of  the  whimsical 
smile.  .  .  .  Whatever  the  role,  the  same  bag  of 
tricks.  Mr.  Skinner  never  gets  deeper  into  the  soul 
of  the  character  he  is  playing  than  that  soul  is  re- 


JOURNALISTIC  HAZLITTRY  157 
vealed  to  him  in  his  dressing-room  mirror.  His 
Italian  organ-grinder  is  less  an  Italian  organ- 
grinder  than  an  imitation  of  the  late  Maurice 
Farkoa  in  a  yellow  sash. 

§  49 

The  Journalistic  Hazlittry. — Not  less  interesting 
than  Dunsany's  "The  Laughter  of  the  Gods"  were 
the  journalistic  critical  performances  visited  upon 
the  work  and  its  author  on  the  occasion  of  the  play's 
initial  revealment  in  the  United  States.  By  way  of 
assessing  the  kidney  of  criticism  to  which  a  play- 
wright is  subjected  at  the  hands  of  New  York  jour- 
nalism, let  us  undertake  the  completely  bootless 
business  of  criticizing  one  of  the  representative  and 
typical  criticisms  confected  on  this  especial  occa- 
sion— the  criticism  in  point  being  that  of  Mr.  J. 
Ranken  Towse,  of  the  Evening  Post,  the  dean  of 
metropolitan  journalistic  play  reviewers.  An  ex- 
cerpt from  this  critical  estimate  will  serve.  Thus, 
then,  this  Mr.  Towse: 

"A  close,  critical  scrutiny  of  the  play  reveals  some 
obvious  weaknesses.  In  the  first  place,  it  is  certain  that 
when  an  argument  or  a  meaning  is  intended  the  exposi- 
tion of  it  should  be  clear.  In  this  particular  case,  for 
instance,  in  which  supernaturalism  (whether  Pagan  or 
otherwise  is  immaterial)  supplies  the  energy  of  the  whole 


158  COMEDIANS   ALL 

dramatic  scheme,  the  spectators  ought  to  be  left  in  no 
doubt  as  to  whether  or  not  it  is  held  up  to  ridicule. 
Yet  this  is  the  condition  in  which  a  good  many  of  them 
must  have  found  themselves  the  other  evening  if  it  oc- 
curred to  them  to  think  at  all.  It  is  not  probable  that 
Lord  Dunsany  deliberately  set  to  work  to  puzzle  his 
audience  with  conundrums,  but  he  has  proposed  several. 
At  whom  or  at  what  were  the  gods  laughing?  At  the 
jocose  slaughter  of  a  court  which  had  refused  to  credit  a 
prophecy  which  they  had  themselves  suborned  or  at 
the  priest  whose  lie  they  converted  into  a  true  and  seem- 
ingly inspired  prediction?  Or  did  the  priest  willingly 
deceive  his  blackmailers  by  pretending  that  he  was  lying 
when  he  knew  that  he  was  speaking  the  truth?  Or  was 
he  trying  at  the  last  to  undo  the  mischief  for  which  he 
was  mainly  responsible?" 

In  the  first  place,  the  observation  that  "It  is  cer- 
tain that  when  an  argument  or  a  meaning  is  in- 
tended the  exposition  of  it  should  be  clear.  In  this 
particular  case,  for  instance,  in  which  supernatural- 
ism  .  .  .  supplies  the  energy  of  the  whole  dra- 
matic scheme,  the  spectators  ought  to  be  left  in  no 
doubt  as  to  whether  or  not  it  is  held  up  to  ridicule," 
etc. 

In  the  first  place  as  to  this  in-the-first-place,  why 
should  it  be  desirable  that  the  spectators  be  left 
in  no  doubt  as  to  whether  the  supematuralism  in 
point  is  or  is  not  held  up  to  ridicule?     Even  grant- 


JOURNALISTIC    HAZLITTRY    159 

ing  that  some  sort  of  argument  or  meaning  is  in- 
tended which — as  Dunsany  explicitly  stated  in  an 
article  quoted  in  the  Evening  Post,  among  other 
papers — is  not  the  case.  This  leaving  of  the  spec- 
tators in  doubt  is  the  very  element  that  makes  the 
play  the  notably  impressive  thing  it  is.  Qiester- 
ton  has  worked  the  same  trick  in  "Magic."  Brieux 
has  done  largely  the  same  thing  in  "La  Foi." 
Ibsen,  if  we  are  to  listen  to  the  opinions  of  Catulle 
Mendes,  Ahlberg,  Jaeger  and  Georg  Brandes,  did 
much  the  same  in  his  "Comedy  of  Love."  The 
spectators  at  Ibsen's  "Wild  Duck"  are  left  in  doubt 
as  to  where  the  thematic  ridicule  of  satire  ceases 
and  the  bite  of  tragedy  begins,  and  vice  versa. 
And  so  on  without  end. 

"It  is  not  probable  that  Dunsany  deliberately 
set  to  work  to  puzzle  his  audience  with  conun- 
drums, but  he  has  proposed  several,"  continues  the 
reviewer, — and  proceeds  to  enumerate. 

Dunsany — despite  the  reviewer — deliberately  set 
to  work  to  do  just  that.  If  intrinsic  proof  be 
needed,  we  have  his  published  word  for  it.  But 
to  this  outside  word  it  is  not  necessary  to  look. 
"The  Laughter  of  the  Gods,"  plainly  enough,  is 
deliberately  a  conundrum  play — as  "The  Lady  or 
the  Tiger"  was  deliberately  a  conundrum  story 
and  as  "Mr.  Lazarus"  and  the  "The  Thirteenth 


160  COMEDIANS   ALL 

Chair"  were  deliberately  conundrum  plays.  Or, 
on  a  higher  level,  as  Schnitzler's  "Bemhardi"  and 
Bahr's  "Principle"  and  Galsworthy's  "Strife"  are, 
in  one  sense,  deliberately  conundrum  plays  and 
as,  in  another,  are  Shaw's  "Getting  Married"  and 
— by  stretching  a  point — Dunsany's  own  "Glitter- 
ing Gate."  The  thematic  conundrum  of  "The 
Laughter  of  the  Gods"  puzzles  Dunsany's  audi- 
ence for  the  very  simple  reason  that  it  also  puz- 
zles Dunsany.  And  being  an  artist,  Dunsany  has 
none  of  the  hack's  wish  arbitrarily  to  answer  what 
is  intrinsically  an  unanswerable  riddle  merely  that 
his  play  may  be  the  more  toothsome  to  the  yokel 
appetite  for  "endings."  This  childish  desire  to 
have  everything  explained,  proved,  settled,  sealed 
and  labelled  is  the  invariable  itch  of  the  What's- 
Inside-the-Doll  school  of  journalistic  criticism  to 
which  this  Mr.  Towse  is  a  typical  doctor.  Of  the 
inscrutable  mysteries  and  riddles  of  the  universe, 
the  meaninglessness  in  the  circlings  of  the  globe 
and  of  what  transpires  on  it  and  above  it  and  be- 
low it,  this  criticism  and  its  devotees  demand  a 
facile  and  satisfactory  solution.  That  the  great 
artists  of  the  world,  from  Shakespeare  and  Bee- 
thoven to  Hauptmann  and  Anatole  France  and 
from  Ibsen  and  Balzac  to  Synge  and  Gorky  and 
Conrad,  have  been  baffled  in  the  face  of  the  rid- 


JOURNALISTIC    HAZLITTRY    161 

dies  means  less  to  the  Towses  than  that  the  Charles 
Kleins  and  Charles  Rann  Kennedys  have  always 
been  quick  to  find  soothing  answers. 

The  utter  fatuity  of  such  criticism  is  to  be  per- 
ceived in  the  questions  which  the  reviewer  would 
have  Dunsany  and  his  work  answer  and  which, 
being  not  answered,  greatly,  in  the  reviewer's  esti- 
mation, weaken  the  play. 

"At  whom  or  at  what  were  the  gods  laughing?" 
the  curious  Towse  demands  to  know.     Or  again — 

"Did  the  priest  willingly  deceive  his  black- 
mailers by  pretending  that  he  was  lying  when  he 
knew  that  he  was  speaking  the  truth?"  Or 
again — 

"Was  he  trying  at  the  last  to  undo  the  mischief 
for  which  he  was  mainly  responsible?" 

Following  an  analogous  train  of  critical  reason- 
ing, the  good  Towse  might  readily  find  fault  with 
"The  Master  Builder"  (as,  sure  enough,  did  Pro- 
fessor Frank  Wadleigh  Chandler,  of  one  of  the 
numerous  jitney  Oxfords  of  the  Middle  West)  be- 
cause Ibsen  has  failed  clearly  to  answer  for  the 
Professor  such  questions  (I  quote  the  genial  Pro- 
fessor, who  calls  them  "enigmas")  as: 

1.  "Is  Hilda  a  woman,  like  Hedda,  or  is  she  a  mere 
imaginative  child?" 

2.  "Is   Hilda   the    youthful    aspiration    of   Solness    re- 


162  COMEDIANS   ALL 

turned  to  him  in  later  life?     If  so,  his  death  is  a 
triumph,  not  a  tragedy!" 
3.  "Or,  again,  is  Hilda,  as  his  embodied  aspiration,  a 
futile  force?     If  so,  the  play  is  a  tragedy!" 

And,  similarly  and  quite  as  relevantly,  might 
the  good  Towse  find  fault  with  Beethoven's  Fifth 
on  the  ground  that  it  does  not  satisfactorily  answer 
for  him  such  conundrums  as  why  does  a  chicken 
cross  the  road,  how  old  is  Ed  Wynn,  and  how  soon 
will  William  Jennings  Bryan  die. 

"The  Laughter  of  the  Gods,"  though  consider- 
ably inferior  to  "The  Gods  of  the  Mountain,"  is 
a  finely  imaginative  and  compelling  derisory  satire. 
It  brings  one  to  wonder,  once  again,  why  no  one 
has  thus  far  looked  to  Dunsany  for  grand  opera 
material.     What  librettos  his  plays  would  make! 

§  50 

True  Sentiment  and  False. — ^Every  once  in  so 
often  some  playwriter  addresses  himself  to  achieve 
again  the  spirit  and  romance  of  Meyer-Forster's 
"Old  Heidelberg,"  and  every  once  in  so  often  the 
tilter  comes  unhorsed  from  the  tourney.  The  sen- 
timent of  "Old  Heidelberg"  was  brewed  out  of  an 
understanding  of  life  and  out  of  an  understand- 
ing of  literary  composition  sufficient  to  translate 


PERSONALITY  163 

that  understanding  of  life  to  the  stage.  It  was 
not,  like  its  imitations,  a  thing  brewed  rather  out 
of  a  misunderstanding  of  life  and  out  of  an  under- 
standing of  the  showshop  sufficient  to  translate  that 
misunderstanding  of  life  to  the  stage.  Sentiment 
is  not  to  be  projected  through  the  proscenium  arch 
by  a  mere  set  representing  a  flower  garden,  a  dim- 
ming of  the  border  lights,  and  Ethelbert  Nevin  on 
an  off-stage  violin. 

§  51 

Personality  and  the  Actor. — On  the  vexed  sub- 
ject of  personality  and  actor,  one  of  my  colleagues 
— a  young  man  given  to  a  profound  admiration  of 
the  cosmetic  art — has  written:  "Our  critics  always 
have  been  a  little  bewildered  by  personality. 
When  they  come  upon  a  personality  as  vivid  as 
Mrs.  Fiske's  or  Maude  Adams',  or  Mr.  Mansfield's 
■ — where  it  is  recognizable  as  a  common  factor  of 
all  the  artist's  performances — we  are  sure  to  have 
some  wearisome  paragraphs  of  protest  from  those 
who  are  wont  to  confuse  the  art  of  acting  with  the 
art  of  disguise.  It  is  a  little  as  though  a  music 
lover  might  regret  that,  while  Caruso  was  pleasing 
enough  in  his  way,  he  always  sang  tenor."  My 
young  friend's  employment  of  the  word  "art"  to 
designate  the  craft  of  putty  noses  and  false  whisk- 


164  COMEDIANS   ALL 

ers  should  be  a  sufficient  answer  to  his  notion  as 
to  the  place  of  personality  in  the  sun  of  the  foot- 
lights. Yet  his  contention  is  so  nicely  representa- 
tive of  the  opinion  of  the  professional  layman  that 
one  may  be  forgiven  for  plumbing  it  a  little  fur- 
ther. 

In  the  first  place,  let  us  set  down  that  person- 
ality is  a  matter  of  major  importance  to  an  actor: 
that  personality  is  nine  points  in  the  histrionic  law. 
To  this,  doubtless,  every  cool  eye  agrees.  There- 
fore, since  personality  is  nine  points  in  the  his- 
trionic law,  it  must  follow  that,  in  an  appraisal  of 
the  histrionic  esthetik,  art  is  but  one  point.  Can 
one  picture,  for  example,  Mrs.  Fiske's  "art"  apart 
from  her  physical  tricks  and  peculiarities  of  per- 
sonality? And  if  so,  what  is  the  bulk  of  the  "art" 
that  remains?  Lazaro's  art  remains  art  on  the 
phonograph  record.  Imagine  Mansfield's  "Cy- 
rano" on  the  Victrola!  Would  it  be  Mansfield's 
art  or  Edmond  Rostand's  that  the  machine  repro- 
duced? The  notion  that  a  bad  actor  reciting 
Shakespeare  is  merely  an  actor,  but  that  a  good  ac- 
tor reciting  Shakespeare  is  an  artist,  is  akin  to  the 
notion  that  Shakespeare  in  paper  covers  is  a  lesser 
artist  than  Shakespeare  in  morocco.  Take  Brieux's 
personality  from  "Les  Hannetons"  (there  is  none 
of  the  man's  generally  accepted  and  recognized 


PERSONALITY  165 

"personality"  in  the  work),  and  a  work  of  art  still 
remains.  Take  Maude  Adams'  personality  from 
her  Peter  Pan — and  what  is  left  but  J.  M.  Barrie? 
When  H.  G.  Wells  wrote  "Tono-Bungay,"  he  was 
proclaimed,  and  properly,  an  artist.  But  if  H.  G. 
Wells  were  to  write  "Tono-Bungay"  every  year, 
without  variety,  without  change,  would  it  be  jus- 
tifiable every  year  to  proclaim  him  an  artist  of  in- 
creasing rank?  Or  Rodin;  if,  every  year,  he  re- 
peated his  "Hand  of  God"?  Yet  year  on  year  our 
so-called  actor  artists  repeat  themselves,  without 
variety,  without  change,  without  diversity — for  all 
the  world  as  if  they  were  dwelling  still  in  those  dis- 
tant days  when  first  the  heated  young  journalists 
of  the  epoch  proclaimed  them  artists.  Mrs.  Fiske's 
"Erstwhile  Susan"  is  Mrs.  Fiske's  "Mrs.  Bump- 
stead-Leigh,"  just  as  Mrs.  Fiske's  "Mrs.  Bumpstead- 
Leigh"  is  Mrs.  Fiske's  "High  Road"  and  "Servir." 
Bernard  Shaw's  "Man  and  Superman"  is  not  Ber- 
nard Shaw's  "Caesar  and  Cleopatra";  Brahms' 
piano-concerto  in  D  minor  is  not  Brahms'  piano- 
concerto  in  B  flat  major.  In  a  word,  the  so-called 
art  of  acting  has  become,  in  its  final  deduction, 
most  often  but  the  sustained  art  of  acting  and  re- 
acting a  single  role:  the  revolving  disc  of  the  por- 
trayal of  a  role  that  once  captivated  the  crowd. 
That  is,  a  successful  catering  to  the  mob.     Hence, 


166  COMEDIANS   ALL 

mere  salesmanship.  Hence — save  in  a  few  sig- 
nal instances — something  scarcely  compatible  with 
authentic  art. 

As  to  my  young  friend's  supplementary  criti- 
cism: "It  is  a  little  as  though  a  music  lover  might 
regret  that,  while  Caruso  was  pleasing  enough  in 
his  way,  he  always  sang  tenor."  The  obvious  re- 
tort would  seem  to  be,  "It  is  a  little  as  though  a 
music  lover  might  regret  that,  while  Caruso  was 
pleasing  enough  in  his  way,  he  always — while  sing- 
ing tenor — distracted  one  with  periodic  bizarre 
movements  of  his  ombligo." 

Nothing,  as  agreed,  is  so  important  to  an  actor  as 
personality;  yet  nothing  so  instantly  bounds  his  ca- 
pacity and  versatility.  The  actor  with  a  marked 
personality — and  here  even  a  very  great  actor  like 
Salvini  is  found  no  exception  to  the  rule — is  as  a 
Corot  upon  whose  palette  there  is  an  unconsonant 
carmine  which  is  forever  getting  vexatiously  into  his 
brushes.  A  dryness  of  voice  in  the  limpid  lines  of 
Romeo;  a  staccato  utterance  in  the  soft  lips  of  a 
Princesse  Lointaine;  an  uncontrollable  neck  twist  in 
the  tender  passages  of  Hannele;  an  indelibly  char- 
acteristic semi-grunt  in  the  great  silences  of  Cyrano 
— these  are  the  defects  of  personality  that  tear  fine 
moments  of  the  stage  into  a  thousand  tatters.  To 
be  effective,  acting  must  interpret  not  so  much  the 


PERSONALITY  167 

playwright's  work  as  the  audience's  silent  criti- 
cism of  that  work.  The  actor  who  is  most  success- 
ful is  he  who  thinks  less  with  his  own  mind  than 
with  the  mind  of  the  theatregoing  mob.  And 
this  is  why  the  thoughtful  lover  of  drama,  the 
person  who  elects  to  use  his  own  mind,  has  re- 
cently taken  himself  in  such  large  numbers  to  the 
printed  play.  He  appreciates  the  fact  that  a  com- 
fortable chair  under  a  reading  lamp  is  the  only 
place  for  worthwhile  drama.  And  if,  in  sooth,  you 
are  one  to  disagree  with  this  man's  notion  and  seri- 
ously contend  that  good  plays  should  be  acted  in 
the  theatre — that  the  stage  is  the  proper  place  for 
them — tell  me  what  you  think  would  happen  to 
Hauptmann's  great  Silesian  play  if,  in  the  tremen- 
dous climax  to  the  fifth  act,  the  child  actress  play- 
ing Mielchen  were  accidentally  to  drop  her  panties? 
Or,  again,  what  would  befall  the  superb  art  of 
Shakespeare's  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  if  you  were  to 
see  it  played  by  a  Romeo  who  chanced  unhappily 
to  be  seized  with  the  hiccoughs? 

§  52 

Double  Entente. — A  theatrical  piece  by  such  rep- 
resentative American  virtuosi  of  thin  ice  as  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Frederic  Hatton  ever  suggests  a  French 


168  COMEDIANS   ALL 

play  written  in  Chicago.  Invariably  selecting 
themes  distinctly  Gallic,  the  Hattons  with  equal  reg- 
ularity select  treatments  distinctly  galline.  That 
this  selection  of  treatment  is,  however,  invol- 
untary, that  it  proceeds  automatically  from  the 
collaborators'  shortcomings,  is  apparent  to  any- 
one who  has  passed  an  eye  over  their  various 
labours.  Breathlessly  pursuing  the  elusive  double 
entente  and  attempting  a  flying  leap  to  the  step 
of  its  caboose,  the  Hattons  are  forever  missing 
and  landing  with  a  loud  bump  upon  their  joint 
sit-spot.  But  such  is  the  patent  unshakable  de- 
termination of  the  good  souls  and  so  great  their 
ardour  to  be  the  Chicago  de  Caillavet  and  de  Flers, 
that  a  rub  on  the  sore  place  and  they  are  forever 
once  again  up  and  at  it.  Does  a  double  entente 
perch  upon  the  window  sill  of  their  chamber  and 
chirp,  and  the  Hattons  are  out  of  bed  at  a  jump 
and  off  to  the  pantry  after  the  salt-shaker.  Does  a 
double  entente  show  its  head  over  the  underbrush 
and  the  Hattons  dash  wildly  to  the  edge  of  the  lake 
and  set  sailing  a  decoy  duck  to  lur-e  it  within  range. 
But  nary  a  genuine  double  entente  falls  into  their 
clutches.  For  what  they  capture,  when  they  cap- 
ture anything,  is  less  a  double  entente  than  a  raw 
smoking-car  story,  a  mining-camp  jape,  a  traveling 
salesman's  wheeze.     And,   further,  not  a   ribald 


THE   CAREER   OF   A   CRITIC     169 

plaisanterie  swaggering  unashamed  in  its  ribaldry, 
and  so  open  to  no  charge  of  leer  or  hypocrisy,  but 
rather  something  that  gives  one  the  impression  of 
smut  in  a  kimono,  of  dirt  grinning  at  one  from  be- 
hind a  screen  and  crooking  its  finger.  The  double 
entente  of  such  Frenchmen  as  Guitry  fils  and 
Picard,  such  Italians  as  Bracco,  such  transplanted 
Swedes  as  Adolf  Paul,  such  Germans  as  Thoma, 
and  such  an  American  as  Zoe  Akins,  is  to  be  bred 
not,  as  the  Hattons  believe,  merely  by  crossing  smut 
with  cologne,  but  by  the  infinitely  more  difficult 
trick  of  crossing  wit  with  literary  skill.  Double 
entente  is  not,  as  the  Hattons  present  it,  an 
obstetrician  in  a  dress  suit;  it  is  a  well-bred  young 
woman  in  negligee. 

§  53 

/.  M.  Barrie. — The  triumph  of  sugar  over 
diabetes. 

§  54 

Episode  in  the  Career  of  a  Critic  of  the  Drama. 
— Two  days  before  the  opening  of  the  new  Selwyn 
Theatre  in  West  Forty-second  Street,  the  manage- 
ment by  uniformed  special  messenger  sent  me,  in 
the  stead  of  the  reviewer's  conventional  paste- 
board tickets  of  admission,  a  box  from  Tiffany's 


170  COMEDIANS   ALL 

wherein,  amid  a  wealth  of  tissue  paper,  lay  a  hand- 
some leather  case  (also  from  Tiffany's)  wherein 
in  turn,  amid  more  tissue  paper,  lay  a  magnificent 
sterling  silver  plate  (also  from  Tiffany's)  engraved 
with  my  name,  a  number  of  gorgeous  scrolls  and 
circumbendiba,  and  the  legend  "Admit  two." 
Obviously,  said  I  to  myself,  on  gazing  upon  this 
costly  boon — obviously,  said  I,  the  MM.  Selwyn  are 
about  to  open  their  new  musee  with  an  especial 
piece  de  resistance,  a  true  goody,  a  something 
extra-fine.  This  must  be,  I  said,  since  for  such 
things  as  Forbes-Robertson's  "Hamlet"  and 
"Caesar  and  Cleopatra"  the  Shuberts  had  sent  me 
by  the  mere  mails  the  ordinary  stereotyped  card- 
board tickets,  since  for  Bemhardt's  "L'Aiglon"  the 
Frohman  office  had  merely  scribbled  on  a  somewhat 
dirty  scrap  of  paper  the  figure  2,  and  since  for 
Duse's  "Heimat"  in  Paris,  I  well  recalled,  the 
manager  had  simply  shouted  to  one  of  the  ushers 
to  give  me  whatever  decent  seat  he  could  find 
vacant.  In  view  of  all  this,  repeated  I  to  myself, 
as  I  gazed  upon  the  MM.  Selwyn's  dazzling  grant, 
in  view  of  all  this,  said  I,  the  MM.  Selwyn  must 
have  something  vintage,  some  impeccable  bijou, 
some  great  ruby,  to  set  out  before  me.  Here, 
whispered  I,  would  be  no  merely  fine  drama,  but 


THE  CAREER  OF  A  CRITIC  171 
something  literally  to  floor  and  stun:  a  drama  to 
remember  when  other  dramas  had  long  gone,  a 
drama  to  thunder  its  echoes  down  the  esplanade 
of  time. 

So  came  the  night  of  the  event.  Impressed  and 
not  a  little  bouleverse  by  the  handsome  leather  case 
and  my  magnificent  sterling  silver  ticket,  I  dressed 
with  unwonted  and  scrupulous  care,  essaying  full 
half  a  dozen  ties  until  one  suited  punctiliously  the 
contour  of  my  chin  and  a  half  dozen  pairs  of  pumps 
until  the  leather  of  one  matched  precisely  the  shade 
of  my  trousers'  braid.  A  bit  of  pomade  upon  my 
hair,  a  boutonniere,  a  flip  to  the  topper — and  the 
glass  satisfied  me  I  was  appropriate  to  the  great 
occasion.  To  Delmonico's  then,  the  handsome 
leather  case  and  my  magnificent  sterling  silver 
ticket  in  my  pocket,  for  a  properly  preparatory  re- 
past. A  slice  of  Honey  Dew,  consomme  Sultan, 
a  timbale  a  la  Conde,  red-snapper  a  la  Venitienne, 
a  cotelette  de  Chevreuil,  a  sorbet,  chapous  truffes, 
poires  a  la  Richelieu,  gateau  Baba  aux  fruits — and 
en  passant  a  Taveme  cocktail,  a  pint  of  Perier 
Jouet,  a  bit  of  Johannisberger  Blue  Seal  1862  and 
a  few  tablespoons  of  cognac  to  wash  it  down.  A 
Partagas  Extremoso  Delicioso,  a  victoria — the 
handsome  leather  case  and  my  magnificent  sterling 


172  COMEDIANS   ALL 

silver  ticket  would  deign  to  abide  no  mere  taxi- 
meter cab — and,  heigho  cocker,  I  was  arrived  at 
the  MM.  Selwyn's  propylon! 

I  was,  I  confess  it,  agog.  The  lobby  flooded  the 
night  with  a  thousand  brilliant  lights.  The  MM. 
Selwyn,  dressed  to  kill,  stood  beside  an  immense 
horseshoe  of  pink  roses  and,  beaming  spacious 
beams,  addressed  to  me  words  of  welcome.  The 
aged  keeper  of  the  door  bowed  meekly  as  I  flashed 
him  with  my  handsome  leather  case  and  my 
magnificent  sterling  silver  ticket.  The  elegant 
head  usher,  glimpsing  my  handsome  leather  case 
and  my  magnificent  sterling  silver  ticket,  saluted 
me  a  la  militaire.  The  but  slightly  less  elegant 
assistant  head  usher  followed  suit  and  hastened  to 
signal  one  of  the  menial  ushers  to  escort  me  to  my 
chair.  Grandly  was  I  led  by  this  menial  through 
an  Italian  Renaissance  promenoir  unstintedly  em- 
bellished with  gilt  Byzantine  griffins,  silver  As- 
syrian hippogrifl's,  still  lifes  by  Candido  Vitali,  the 
flags  of  the  Allies,  a  Greek  urn  or  two,  several  Louis 
XIV  tapestries,  a  Roycroft  library  table,  a  number 
of  baskets  of  artificial  poppies  and  goldenrod,  and 
four  or  five  of  Lewis  and  Conger's  sociable  brass 
spittoons — and  waved  into  the  fauteuil  desig- 
nated on  my  magnificent  sterling  silver  ticket. 

I  was  breathless  with  the  grandeur  of  it  all. 


THE  CAREER  OF  A  CRITIC  173 
And  profoundly  moved  and  expectant.  Haupt- 
mann  at  the  very  least!  mused  I.  And,  even  so, 
this  Hauptmann  fellow  would  under  the  circum- 
stances be  at  his  best  none  too  good.  Or  mayhap 
Rostand!  Yet  this  Rostand  also  would  under  the 
circumstances  be  something  of  a  disappointment 
even  at  his  best.  The  MM.  Selwyn's  plum  was  un- 
questionably a  more  juicy  one.  I  looked  at  the 
handsome  leather  case  and  my  magnificent  sterling 
silver  ticket  (allowed  in  my  keeping  as  a  souvenir 
of  the  high  event),  and  was  certain. 

The  big  orchestra  boomed  out  "The  Star 
Spangled  Banner"  and,  with  the  audience  to  its 
feet,  the  national  emblem  was  flung  proudly  in 
dedication  across  the  proscenium.  .  .  .  Andreyev 
or  von  Hof mannsthal !  One  or  the  other,  I  was 
now  sure.  Nothing  less!  .  .  .  The  big  orchestra, 
the  audience  again  seated,  was  at  the  overture,  the 
"Mireille"  of  Gounod.  ...  At  least  de  Curel  or 
Bjomsterne  Bjomson,  I  would  have  bet  my  shirt! 
Or  perchance  some  posthumously  discovered  MS, 
of  Strindberg.  Or  something  of  Schnitzler  or 
Tchekhov.  Or  even — though  this  was  under  the 
circumstances  unthinkable — a  vulgar  descent  to 
Gorki  or  Heijermans  or  Gabriele  D'Annunzio. 
.  .  .  The  orchestra  became  silent.  ...  A  lung- 
filled  hush  swept  the  auditorium.  .  .  .  The  lights 


174  COMEDIANS   ALL 

became  very,  very  slowly  dim.  .  .  .  The  luxurious 

plush  curtain  rose. 

"Don't  she  look  just  like  a  picture!"  ecstatically 
exclaimed  a  fat  actress  in  a  maid's  costume,  peer- 
ing through  some  pink  curtains  at  the  left  of  the 
stage. 

The  pink  curtains  were  then  pulled  apart  and  re- 
vealed the  leading  woman  in  a  pink  nightgown 
trimmed  with  dyed  pussy  languishing  in  a 
pink  bed  and  making  winks  at  the  friends  out 
front. 

I  seized  my  gorgeous  program  in  seven  colours 
print  upon  vellum.     And  this  is  what  I  saw: 

Jane  Cowl 

in 

"Information,  Please!'* 

by 

Jane  Cowl 

§  55 

Haddon  Chambers. — In  my  perhaps  sometimes 
unjust  critical  canon,  a  dramatist  is  held  always 
to  be  as  strong  as  his  weakest  banality.     It  is  be- 


HADDON  CHAMBERS  175 
cause  of  this  and  because  in  the  midst  of  even  the 
best  of  his  good  writing  he  descends  now  and  then 
to  the  most  doggrel  showhouse  platitude,  that  I  hold 
Mr.  Haddon  Chambers  in  less  than  the  common 
esteem.  If  a  man  writes  a  distinctly  first-rate  play, 
but  somewhere — and  however  briefly — in  that  play 
makes  a  small  joke  on  Watt  Street  or  Swiss  cheese 
or  Yonkers,  my  prejudice,  for  all  his  otherwise 
distinctly  first-rate  work,  dispatches  the  fellow  with- 
out further  ado.  Thus,  though  in  a  play  like  "The 
Saving  Grace"  Mr.  Chambers  exhibits  a  consider- 
able measure  of  finished  writing,  polished  humour 
and  occasionally  dexterous  characterization,  the 
resident  impression  I  take  away  from  the  piece  is 
of  the  butler  sneaking  the  usual  two  drinks  of 
sherry  on  the  sly  and,  upon  the  sound  of  foot- 
steps, gliding  away  from  the  decanter,  the  mean- 
while whistling  in  innocent  nonchalance. 

Were  minutes  hours  or  even  half-hours,  Mr. 
Chambers  would  be  a  precellent  dramatist.  In  his 
almost  every  piece  of  writing  for  the  stage,  he  dis- 
closes various  minutes  of  sound  worth.  But  these 
separate  minutes,  save  possibly  in  his  "Tyranny  of 
Tears,"  are  ever  drowned  in  overwhelming  waves 
of  inconsequent  observation  and  the  more  or  less 
manifest  theatrical  dodges.  There  are  several 
such   valuable   minutes   in   his   "Saving   Grace." 


176  COMEDIANS   ALL 

But  they,  as  in  his  other  plays,  are  surrounded  and 
riddled  to  the  death  by  overtures  in  which  two 
typical  Jerome  K.  Jerome  servants  set  the  table  and 
identify  the  characters  presently  due  to  appear,  by 
the  bewhiskered  whangdoodle  of  the  faithful  family 
retainer  who  gulps  and  nobly  declines  to  desert  his 
financially  distressed  employer,  by  the  equally 
bearded  platitude  of  the  last  moment  telegram 
that  turns  the  hero's  fortunes,  and  similar  dramatic 
crutches. 

§  56 

The  Palais  Royal  Naturalized. — Were  Brieux's 
"Damaged  Goods"  to  be  adapted  in  terms  of  Ger- 
man measles  and  George  Moore's  little  Luachet 
in  terms  of  Little  Red  Riding  Hood,  the  result 
would  not  be  more  confounding  than  the  invariable 
local  conceit  of  presenting  the  bed  of  Palais  Royal 
farce  in  terms  of  mistletoe.  The  notion,  com- 
monly suffered  by  the  native  writer  for  the  theatre, 
that  an  American  audience  will  not  stomach 
adultery  in  light  farce  is  absurdly  ill-founded,  as 
the  first  adapter  who  sees  through  the  current  super- 
stition will  amply  prove.  The  general  practice  of 
adapting  this  adultery  out  of  a  play  and  convert- 
ing it  into  a  pinch  on  the  arm,  or  something  equally 
lubricious,  not  only  of  course  makes  the  theme  of 


PALAIS    ROYAL  177 

the  play  perfectly  ridiculous,  but  sorely  damages 
the  box-office  values  to  boot.  When  a  loose  fish 
goes  into  a  young  woman's  bed-chamber  late  at 
night  and  without  opposition  remains  in  it  until 
early  the  next  morning,  there  isn't  an  audience  in 
the  whole  of  the  United  States  that  can  be  per- 
suaded to  believe  for  a  single  moment  that  all  the 
fellow  did  in  there  was  to  play  post-office.  And 
while  such  an  audience  is  willing — for  the  sake 
of  the  tradition  forced  upon  it  against  its  will  and 
common  sense — good-naturedly  and  temporarily 
to  overlook  the  preposterous  equivocation  around 
half-past  nine,  it  plainly  begins  to  lose  patience 
when  the  equivocation  is  thereafter  insisted  upon 
every  other  minute  and  when,  in  the  midst  of  the 
insistence,  it  suddenly  develops  that  the  young 
woman  who  voluptuously  held  hands  with  the 
Lothario  is  enceinte. 

Ten  years  ago,  the  American  audience  may  have 
held,  with  commendable  steadfastness  of  faith,  that 
adultery  was  confined  to  milk,  but  in  the  meantime 
its  suspicions  may  be  said  to  have  become  some- 
what aroused. 

§  57 

Satire. — The  seat  of  the  trousers  pursuing  a 
slapstick. 


178  COMEDIANS   ALL 

§  58 

The  American  Sentimentality. — A  proof  of  the 
incurable  sentimentality  of  American  theatregoers 
is  to  be  had  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Bert  Williams. 
Williams,  seven  or  eight  years  ago,  showed  promise 
as  a  comedian.  But,  each  year  since,  he  has  re- 
vealed himself  as  an  increasingly  inept  and  un- 
imaginative performer.  Yet  each  year  he  is  pro- 
claimed a  better  and  better  comedian,  and  ap- 
plauded the  more  and  more,  merely  because  he 
happens  to  be  a  negro. 

§  59 

The  Artificial  Play. — ^To  the  composition  of  even 
the  most  artificial  of  comedies,  an  intrinsic  sense 
of  touch  and  go  with  life  is  patently  essential. 
Without  this,  the  result  is  a  play  artificial  not  in 
the  intentional  and  appropriate  sense,  but  artificial 
in  the  sense  of  a  street-light  left  unwittingly  to 
bum  after  dawn. 

§  60 

The  End  of  a  Perfect  Dane. — Every  once  in  a 
while  the  gentlemen  who  manufacture  dramatic 
criticism  for  the  New  York  newspapers  and  maga- 


END    OF   A   PERFECT   DANE     179 

zines  achieve  a  performance  in  the  slapstick  and 
seltzer  siphon  so  brilliant  that  it  must  fetch  a  tear 
of  envy  to  the  entrepreneurs  of  burlesque,  small- 
time vaudeville  and  the  pie  film.  In  considerable 
part  the  species  of  dramatic  commentators  who 
believe  that  when  Al  Jolson  falls  with  a  thud  upon 
his  pelvis  the  spectacle  is  vulgar,  and  that  when 
Falstaff  falls  with  a  thud  upon  his  it  is  Art,  these 
gentlemen  rarely  allow  a  month  to  pass  without 
applying  the  bilbo  to  their  own  hinter-pant  and 
squirting  themselves  in  the  ear  with  the  mechanical 
carafe.  By  archaeologists  of  the  bean  feast,  such 
periodic  critical  rendezvous  with  the  loaded  stogie 
are  recognized  as  of  a  piece  with  the  finest  low 
comedy  of  the  actual  stage,  and  as  such  are  prop- 
erly eulogized  to  their  niches  in  the  ante-chamber 
of  the  temple  of  the  beaux  arts. 

The  late  war  doubled  up  the  sheets  on  the  local 
Hazlittry  with  a  persistent  and  sardonic  waggery 
and  augmented  at  least  fiftyfold  the  unwitting 
metropolitan  critical  comedy.  For  the  war 
patently  made  the  German,  Austrian  and  Hun- 
garian dramatist  as  popular  in  the  Anglo-Saxon 
theatre  as  a  loud,  wet  sneeze  and  an  indulgence  in 
left-handed  stratagem  was  hence  made  necessary 
when  producers  and  adapters  desired  to  present 
the  work  of  these  enemy  craftsmen  in  that  theatre. 


180  COMEDIANS   ALL 

The  result,  as  observed,  was  a  critical  wayzgoose 
of  truly  magnificent  proportions:  a  dazzling  stand- 
ing upon  heads  and  tripping  over  mats  and  danc- 
ing of  the  bump-polka  the  like  of  which  even  two 
such  proficient  critical  comedians  as  Mr.  J.  T. 
Grein,  of  London,  and  Mr.  J.  Ranken  Towse,  of 
the  New  York  Evening  Post,  have  with  all  their 
virtuosity  in  unconscious  monkeyshine  been  in  the 
past  unable  to  equal  in  even  an  entire  quarter 
column  of  theatrical  comment. 

Among  the  most  extravagant  capers  cut  by  the 
local  guerinets  during  this  period  of  managerial 
war-time  subterfuge  will  be  recalled  the  now  cele- 
brated instance  of  the  unanimous  acceptance  of 
"Such  Is  Life,"  a  play  produced  in  the  Princess 
Theatre  and  credited  to  the  British  playwright, 
Harold  Owen,  as  a  typical  example  of  modem 
English  comedy.  This  "Such  Is  Life,"  as  will  co- 
incidentally  be  recalled,  was  actually  a  word-for- 
word  translation  of  "The  Book  of  a  Woman,"  a 
well-known  and  typical  modem  German  comedy  by 
the  well-known  Berlin  playwright,  Lothar  Schmidt. 
A  tutti  of  not  less  imposing  sweetness,  as  con- 
noisseurs of  the  more  refined  cheese  wheezes  will 
remember,  was  brought  on  with  the  presentation 
of  a  play  called  "Grasshopper,"  in  the  Garrick 
Theatre.     This  play  was  the  work  of  von  Keyser- 


END   OF   A    PERFECT   DANE     181 

ling,  the  German,  whose  dramatic  writings  are  com- 
paratively as  familiar  to  Munich  audiences  as  are 
those  of  George  Broadhurst  to  New  York.  The 
play  was  duly  credited  to  von  Keyserling  but,  by 
way  of  safeguarding  the  box-office  against  the 
omnipresent  and  alert  Mrs.  Jays,  the  management 
prudently  dropped  the  von  and  gave  out  that  Mr. 
E.  Keyserling,  as  they  dubbed  him,  was  a  Russian 
dramatist.  This  news  the  critical  gentlemen  of 
the  metropolitan  brochures  promptly  swallowed, 
with  the  result  that  the  reviews  of  the  play  were 
rich  in  profound  comparisons  of  "The  Moscow 
Keyserling's"  writing  with  that  of  such  of  his  fel- 
low Russian  dramatists  as  Ostrovsky,  Griboyedov, 
Gogol  and  Turgenev  and  such  of  his  fellow  Rus- 
sian poets  as  Tyntchev  and  Pushkin.  In  this  enter- 
prise, the  Beaumarchais  of  The  Times  (the  young 
Professor  Dr.  WooUcott)  was  especially  informa- 
tive and,  if  I  remember  rightly,  devoted  consid- 
erable extra  space  in  his  Sunday  edition  to  an  il- 
luminating feuilleton  in  which  he  commented  ex- 
tensively and  instructively  upon  Keyserling's  proud 
place  in  modem  Russian  dramatic  literature. 

Another  if  possibly  not  so  mouth-watering 
delicacy  was  the  concerted  critical  promulgation  of 
"The  Blue  Pearl"  as  a  typical  specimen  of  the 
American  crook  melodrama,  the  play — credited  on 


182  COMEDIANS   ALL 

the  playbill  to  Miss  Anne  Crawford  Flexner — be- 
ing actually  a  translation  of  Amim  Friedmann's 
and  Paul  Frank's  Viennese  sex  triangle  comedy, 
"The  Blue  Crocodile."  And  still  another — al- 
though the  war  had  no  share  in  this  drollery — 
was  the  extravagant  praise  of  the  actor,  H.  B. 
Warner,  for  his  "fine  art  in  holding  the  stage  dur- 
ing a  fifteen  minute  soliloquy"  in  "Sleeping 
Partners"  (I  quote  the  Globe  Aristobulus  by  way 
of  sample),  when  the  truth  was  that  the  actor's 
art  was  so  extraordinarily  fine  that  Guitry's 
original  soliloquy,  with  all  its  sly  fancy  and 
humour,  had  to  be  cut  exactly  in  half  to  meet  the 
Warner  deficiency  in  talent  for  holding  the  stage. 
The  original  soliloquy,  incidentally,  was  read  in 
full  in  the  London  presentation  of  the  play  by  a 
performer  even  so  lacking  in  fine  art  as  Mr.  Sey- 
mour Hicks. 

But  with  all  this — and  all  this  is  as  nothing  be- 
side the  bible  of  critical  foot-slippings  and  ker- 
flops  that  in  the  early  war  years  entertained  the 
archdeacons  of  joy — the  real  piece,  the  cake  for  the 
birthday,  the  plat  filled  with  the  maraschino,  was 
yet  to  come,  since  the  last  war  year  was  to  bring 
with  it  the  most  truly  beautiful  flower  of  journal- 
istic criticism,  the  most  truly  lovely  bloom,  that  has 
thus    far   blossomed    out   of   the   show   pews   of 


END  OF  A  PERFECT  DANE  183 
Broadway.  For  in  this  year  there  was  presented  in 
the  Harris  Theatre  a  play,  and  the  play  was  called 
"The  Riddle:  Woman,"  and  here  follows  the 
jocund  tale. 

This  play  was  written  about  ten  years  ago 
by  Rudolf  Jakobi,  the  well-known  Hungarian 
dramatist,  and  was  produced  under  the  same  title 
in  the  seasons  directly  following  both  in  the  Volks- 
theater  of  Vienna  and  the  Deutschestheater  of 
Berlin.  The  Messrs.  Shubert,  subsequently  plan- 
ning to  exploit  in  this  country  a  Danish  actress 
named  Betty  Nansen,  purchased  the  American 
rights  to  the  Hungarian  play  and  employed  their 
play-reader.  Miss  Charlotte  Wells,  to  make  a 
translation  of  the  play  in  collaboration  with  Miss 
Dorothy  Donnelly.  These  ladies  took  the  Hun- 
garian manuscript  in  hand  and,  by  way  of  injecting 
an  atmosphere  into  it  that  might  the  better  suit  the 
Danish  actress,  changed  the  locale  from  Austria- 
Hungary  to  Copenhagen  and  such  character  names 
as  Julius  Schebitz,  Hermann  Dunkel  and  Lena 
Wegenstein  to  Lars  Olrik,  Erik  Helsinger  and  Thora 
Bertol.  Meanwhile,  however,  the  Messrs.  Shubert 
decided  not  to  exploit  the  Danish  actress  and  re- 
linquished their  rights  to  both  the  original  Hun- 
garian play  and  the  translation.  For  several  years 
the  play  rested  in  the  translators'  desk  drawer;  and 


184  COMEDIANS   ALL 

then  one  day  along  came  Bertha  Kalich,  the  push- 
cart Bernhardt,  with  her  black  eye  peeled  for  a 
Broadway  vehicle.  And  out  from  its  nest  came  the 
dusty  adaptation  of  Rudolf  Jakobi's  opus. 

The  Kalich  blood-pressure  jumped  sixty  points 
when  she  read  the  adaptation,  and  she  decided  to 
present  it  instanter.  But  care  must  be  exercised! 
the  adapters  warned  her.  For  the  war,  as  has  been 
said,  made  it  a  risky  box-office-busting  business  to 
put  on  a  play  from  the  pen  of  an  enemy  dramatist. 
The  Wagner-chuckers  and  Kreisler-grabbers  and 
Muck-rakers  were  ever  snooping  around  in  gum 
boots!  Well,  why  not  throw  them  off  the  scent; 
why  not  drop  the  suspiciously  beery  Rudolf  and 
substitute  for  it  simply  the  initial  C — C  might  be 
taken  to  stand  for  something  Copenhagenish  like 
Copnus;  why  not  spell  Jakobi  as  Jacobi;  and  why 
not,  finally,  announce  this  C.  Jacobi  on  the  play- 
bills as  a  Danish  playwright  and  "The  Riddle: 
Woman"  as  a  Danish  drama?  A  rich  idea;  and 
no  sooner  conceived  than  executed.  And  thus  it 
came  about  that  Bertha  Kalich  opened  one  fine 
night  at  the  Harris  Theatre  in  the  celebrated  Danish 
play,  "The  Riddle:  Woman,"  by  the  eminent  Dane, 
Mr.  C.  Jacobi. 

Now  for  the  criticisms  of  this  famous  Scandina- 
vian work. 


END   OF   A   PERFECT   DANE     185 

Thus,  the  learned  Sir  Isumbras  to  the  World: 
"The  play's  foreign  manner  is  easy  to  detect.  The 
program's  acknowledgment  was  hardly  necessary 
that  Charlotte  Wells  and  Dorothy  Donnelly,  who 
made  the  present  version,  went  as  far  afield  as  Den- 
mark to  find  the  original  in  a  drama  by  C.  Jacobi. 
This  Danish  play  is  as  danksome  as  the  emanations 
of  the  Scandinavian  dramatists  usually  are." 

Ah,  Isumbras,  the  danksome  Budapest  of  ten 
years  ago! 

Thus,  the  Pupienus  Maximus  to  the  Globe: 
"It  is  evident  from  the  first  of  this  Danish  drama 
that  C.  Jacobi  knows  well  his  Scandinavian  temper- 
ament." 

So,  the  Eumolpus  to  the  Sun:  "The  play  is  an 
offshoot  of  the  Scandinavian  school  of  drama  .  .  . 
of  the  sort  that  Ibsen  might  have  thrown  off.  The 
Scandinavian  characteristics  are  more  than  super- 
ficial. The  story  is  one  of  seething  passions,  of  the 
volcanic  emotions  of  descendants  of  the  Vik- 
ings. .  .  ." 

Thus,  the  Theodorus  Gaza  to  the  Evening  World, 
who — as  will  be  noted — evidently  read  the  play 
in  the  original  Danish:  "Charlotte  Wells  and 
Dorothy  Donnelly  have  taken  the  Danish  play  of 
C.  Jacobi  and  made  it  an  interesting  sex  drama. 
It  was  all  of  that — and  a  bit  more  perhaps — in  its 


186  COMEDIANS   ALL 

original  form.  There  is  no  particular  reason  for 
considering  the  work  that  Miss  Wells  and  Miss 
Donnelly  have  done.  The  main  fact  is  that  the 
play  suggests  .  .  .  the  thought  of  Ibsen.  The  first 
act  brings  back  Hedda  Gabler  and  Mrs.  Elvsted 
.  .  .",  etc. 

So,  the  Giuseppi  Fiorelli  to  the  Herald,  who  was 
apparently  also  privy  to  the  original:  "The 
adapters  acknowledge  indebtedness  for  their  idea 
to  the  Danish  play  by  C.  Jacobi.  It  might  be  wiser 
to  acknowledge  even  more  than  the  idea,  since  the 
Danish  names  of  the  characters  are  retained  .  .  .", 
etc. 

And  thus,  with  firm  finality,  the  profound  M. 
Towse,  Titus  Livius  to  the  Evening  Post:  "The 
simple  fact  is  that  in  this  case,  as  in  a  very  large 
proportion  of  the  modern  Scandinavian  drama,  the 
main  material  .  .>  .  ",   etc. 

Again,  to  turn  to  the  periodicals,  so  the  omnis- 
cient M.  Metcalfe,  Ippolito  Rosellini  to  Life: 
"The  Mesdames  Wells  and  Donnelly  seem  to  have 
translated  'The  Riddle:  Woman'  almost  literally 
from  a  Danish  play  by  C.  Jacobi." 

And  so,  again,  the  ordinarily  sagacious  M. 
Lewisohn,  Alonso  de  Ojeda  to  Town  Topics:  "As 
Danish  libertines  are  more  picturesque  than  those 
of  other  countries — with  which  we  have  been  sur- 


END    OF   A   PERFECT   DANE     187 

feited — the    adapters   have   not   transplanted   the 
locale  of  the  original  play." 

And  so,  still  again,  the  pregnant  M.  Clayton 
Hamilton,  Rasmus  Rask  and  Acusilaus  to  Vogue: 
"The  piece  was  adapted  from  the  Danish  of  C. 
Jacobi  .  .  .  and  we  should  be  duly  thankful  to  his 
two  American  adapters  for  drawing  attention  to  his 
prowess  .  .  .",  etc. 

I  need  not  go  in  for  more.  Without  exception, 
whether  in  the  instance  of  newspaper  or  weekly  or 
monthly  magazine,  was  the  lay  public  fully  en- 
lightened by  its  critical  savants  on  the  "modem 
school  of  Scandinavian  drama  of  which  *The 
Riddle:  Woman*  is  a  typical  example  and  of 
which  C.  Jacobi  is  a  typical  exponent."  .  .  . 

The  incurable  fancy,  promiscuously  held  and 
fostered  by  the  local  professors  of  criticism,  that 
the  Danish  drama  is  insistently  and  invariably  a 
sour  drama,  a  drama  of  passion,  abnormality  and 
low  lights,  should  dally  in  passing  with  a  number 
of  such  familiar  Danish  plays  as  Gustav  Wied's 
"2X2  =  5,"  or  "Thummelumsen,"  or  Gustav 
Esman's  "Father  and  Son."  For,  contrary  to  be- 
ing a  typical  specimen  of  the  modem  Scandinavian 
problem  drama,  "The  Riddle:  Woman"  is  a  typical 
example  of  the  modem  Austro-Hungarian  problem 


188  COMEDIANS   ALL 

drama.  For  one  Austro-Hungarian  like  Schnitzler, 
or  Sil  Vara  or  Molnar  who  writes  with  charming 
sophistication  in  the  twilight  mood,  there  are  two 
dozen  who  annually  grind  out  naive  morning-after 
yokel-yankers  in  the  glowering  mid-Pinero  mood. 
No  twelvemonth  passes  in  the  Austro-Hungarian 
theatre  without  its  ample  procession  of  "Riddle 
Women,"  without  its  long  series  of  reboiled  Tan- 
querays  and  Irises.  In  the  half  season  directly 
preceding  the  war,  precisely  twenty-eight  such 
ancient  and  artless  boudoir  explosions  were  set  be- 
fore the  public  in  question.  And  for  the  full 
season  of  1913—14,  the  easily  accessible  Kiinast 
and  Knepler  statistics  reveal  a  doubled  dose.  .  .  . 
It  therefore  grieves  me  sorely  to  report  that  Mr. 
**C.  Jacobi'*  is  approximately  as  Danish  as 
Chauncey  Olcott. 

§  61 

Amour  in  the  Theatre. — The  basic  difference  be- 
tween a  comic  opera  libretto  and  a  drama  is  gen- 
erally this:  In  a  libretto  the  interest  of  everybody 
on  the  stage  and  of  nobody  in  the  audience  is 
centered  on  the  successful  culmination  of  the  hero's 
love  affair.     In  drama  the  situation  is  the  reverse. 


"LITERARY"   PLAYWRIGHT       189 
§  62 

The  Broadway  ''Literary^*  Playwright. — The 
technique  of  the  Broadway  "literary"  playwright 
consists  (1)  in  expressing  the  simplest  thought  in 
the  most  complex  manner  possible  and  (2)  sup- 
planting any  monosyllabic  word  that  may  crop  up 
in  the  expression  with  a  word  at  least  four  inches 
long.  Thus,  if  in  one  of  his  plays  he  desires  a 
character  to  observe  that  it  is  time  for  tea,  the 
Broadway  "literary"  playwright  goes  about  the  en- 
terprise something  like  this.  He  writes,  first,  the 
simple  line,  "It  is  time  for  tea."  Scrutinizing 
the  line  closely,  and  detecting  its  baldness,  he  then 
changes  the  line  to  read,  "The  hour  for  the  serv- 
ice of  tea  has  arrived."  This  line  he  ponders, 
deems  a  trifle  too  bourgeois,  and  presently  converts 
into  "The  appropriate  period  for  the  distribution 
of  tea  has  overtaken  us."  Nor  is  the  line  yet  pre- 
cisely to  his  Corinthian  palate.  And  slowly  it  be- 
comes "The  meet  moment  of  God's  beautiful  day 
for  the  social  custom  of  distributing  tea  has  dawned 
upon  the  conscience."  So  much  for  the  first  step 
in  the  technique.  It  now  but  remains  to  take  out 
the  little  words  and  supplant  them  with  as  many 
true  beauties.     And  so,  at  length,  the  line  that 


190  COMEDIANS   ALL 

the  character  speaks  is  not  the  merely  plebeian 
"It  is  time  for  tea"  but  the  vastly  more  delicat  and 
impressive  "The  consentaneous  conjuncture  in  the 
Infinite  and  Eternal's  tesselated  nonce  for  the  homi- 
letical  punctilio  of  dispensing  the  brew  of  the 
Camellia  theifera  has  dawned  upon  the  acroama- 
tism."  The  impression  one  consequently  takes 
away  from  such  a  play  is  of  having  been  present 
at  a  discourse  by  the  debating  team  of  the  Tuskegee 
Institute  on  the  one  side  and  Montague  Glass'  Henry 
D.  Feldman,  Mr.  Thorstein  Veblen  and  a  Baume 
Analgesique  circular  on  the  other. 

§  63 

Eugene  Walter. — The  technic  of  Mr.  Eugene 
Walter  in  the  achievement  of  stage  melodrama 
would  appear  to  be  as  follows:  first,  to  take  a 
story  instrinsically  devoid  of  melodrama;  second, 
to  write  that  story  on  the  smallest  possible  num- 
ber of  Western  Union  Telegraph  blanks;  third,  to 
throw  away  half  the  blanks;  and,  fourth,  by  way 
of  making  the  remaining  blanks  then  pass  for  tense 
melodrama,  to  cause  what  is  written  on  them  to 
be  recited  by  a  company  of  actors  in  a  rapid,  ner- 
vous and  confused  whisper.  Mr.  Walter's  method 
may  be  concretely  impressed  upon  the  reader  by 


EUGENE   WALTER  191 

asking  him  to  think  of  some  such  jingle  as,  for  in- 
stance, 

Mary  had  a  little  lamb 

Its  fleece  was  white  as  snow, 

And  everywhere  that  Mary  went 

The  lamb  was  sure  to  go. 

Here,  the  reader  will  grant,  may  be  inherent  many 
things,  but  assuredly  no  great  amount  of  melo- 
drama. Now,  however,  for  Mr.  Walter's  secret. 
First,  imagine  a  darkened  stage.     Then, 

Detective  X 
{Quickly  flashing  a  pocket-light  around  the  dark  room, 
taking  three  rapid  strides  toward  the  door  at  left  centre, 
and  speaking  in  a  rapid,  quivering  undertone) : 
Maryhadalittlelamb. 
Detective  Y 
(Stepping  quietly  to  Detective's  X's  side,  placing  a 
restraining   hand   upon   his   wrist,   and   speaking   in  a 
breathless  whisper) : 

Itsfleece  waswhiteas  snow. 
Detective  X 
(Glancing  quickly  to  the  right  and  extinguishing  the 
pocket-flash.     In  a  voice  shaking  with  suppressed  excite- 
ment and  scarcely  audible) : 

Andevery  wherethatmary  went. 
Detective  Y 
(Handing    Detective    X    his    revolver.     In    a    tense 
vibrating  pianissimo) : 

The   lambwas    sm-etogo! 


192  COMEDIANS    ALL 

— and  you  have  the  Waher  system.  A  pocket- 
flash,  a  revolver,  a  dark  stage,  and  the  most  inno- 
cent lines  spoken  as  if  the  actors  had  lost  their 
voices  and  were  victims  of  palpitation  of  the  heart 
— and  you  have  the  necessary  air  of  mystery,  fore- 
boding and  suspense. 

§  64 

The  Well-Mannered  Play. — All  that  seems  neces- 
sary to  persuade  the  average  play-reviewer  that  a 
play  and  production  are  well-mannered  is  for  the 
producer  to  direct  that  the  play  be  enacted  in  a  very 
slow  and  deliberate  tempo,  that  the  actors  speak 
softly,  and  that  the  chairs  on  the  stage  be  uphol- 
stered in  some  colour  other  than  red  or  green. 

§  65 

On  Beauty. — My  favourite  and  oft-repeated  con- 
tention that  one  good-looking  girl  is  sufficient  to 
make  almost  any  kind  of  music  show  thoroughly 
enjoyable,  is  once  again  eloquently  proved  in  the 
case  of  such  an  Anglo-Saxon  production  as  "Over 
the  Top,"  and  at  the  same  time  even  more  elo- 
quently disproved  in  the  case  of  such  a  Latin  pro- 
duction as  "A  Night  in  Spain."     In  the  first  direct 


ONBEAUTY  193 

instance,  what  is  otherwise  an  entertainment  of 
modest  pressure  is  given  a  tripled  fillip  through 
the  presence  on  the  stage  of  the  arch  tit-bit  known 
as  Justine  Johnstone,  and  in  the  second  indirect  in- 
stance, what  is  otherwise  an  entertainment  of  su- 
perior pressure  is  deleted  of  not  the  slightest  fillip 
by  the  presence  on  the  stage  of  a  company  of  ladies 
even  the  most  beautiful  of  whom  fails  signally  in 
ambrosial  approach  to  a  cow. 

The  Spanish  type  of  beauty,  of  which  these  latter 
ladies  are  somewhat  remotely  representative,  is, 
for  all  the  democratic  affectation  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  Lothario,  as  much  below  the  American  type 
of  beauty  as  the  American  is  below  the  Japanese. 
Beauty,  after  all,  in  its  general  world  sense,  is  de- 
terminable very  largely  in  accordance  with  its  de- 
gree of  delicacy,  as  Nietzsche  and  numerous  others 
have  pointed  out.  The  Spanish  beauty  is  the 
beauty  of  the  ripe  tomato ;  the  American,  the  beauty 
of  a  slice  of  tomato  on  a  lettuce  leaf;  the  Japanese, 
the  utsukushiki  of  the  lettuce  leaf.  To  the  true 
connoisseur,  whether  Spanish  or  American,  the 
Spanish  bloom  has  about  it  something  too  much 
of  the  quality  of  the  tube-rose,  of  a  parade  with 
the  brass  bands  too  close  together,  of  a  Hofbrau 
carte  du  jour:  it  is,  in  a  word,  too  excessive,  too 
luxuriant.     And  when,  as  in  the  case  of  the  "Night 


194  COMEDIANS   ALL 

in  Spain"  ladies,  the  exhibited  beauty  is  as  far  re- 
moved from  the  flower  of  Spanish  beauty  as  is  the 
beauty  exhibited  in  the  Avenue  des  Acacias  from 
the  flower  of  French  beauty,  the  nature  of  the 
aesthetic  sensation  imparted  may  be  imagined. 
But,  as  I  have  in  the  beginning  suggested,  it  is 
this  very  lack  of  beauty  in  these  senoritas  that  pre- 
sents us  with  our  embarrassing  paradox.  Where 
the  merely  half-way  homeliness  so  common  to  the 
New  York  stage  chills — or,  at  best,  leaves  one  in- 
diff"erent — the  very  amazing  homeliness  of  these 
ladies,  by  virtue  of  its  sheer  magnitude  and  unaf- 
fected splendour,  enchants  completely.  Where  the 
average  moderately  personable  Broadway  music 
show  creatures  fail  to  divert  the  eye  a  second  time 
after  the  first  chorus,  these  gorgeously  unlovely 
things  attract  and  hold  immobile  that  same  eye  as 
absolutely  as — and  in  the  same  way  as — Cyrano 
de  Bergerac  and  the  Elsie  de  Wolf  scenery,  Cour- 
bet's  "Les  Baigneuses"  and  green  stockings,  the 
Fifth  Avenue  residence  of  Senator  Clark  and  Jo- 
jo  the  Dog-Faced  Boy,  a  Boston  bull  and  the  nudes 
of  Paul  Cezanne,  or  Madame  Polaire  and  Youngs- 
town,  Ohio.  Miss  Johnstone  is  to  the  Sefiorita 
Marco,  true  enough,  as  Aquavit  is  to  beer;  but,  as 
any  more  civilized  Scandinavian  will  assure  you, 
there  are  paradoxes  in  tipples  no  less  than  in  aes- 


TOUJOURS    PERDRIX        195 

thetics,  and  the  two,  though  you  believe  it  or  not, 
may  yet  be  mixed  to  the  charm  of  the  palate  and 
the  complete  satisfaction  of  the  judge  of  fine  arts. 

§  66 

Ton  jours  Perdrix. — One  of  the  legitimate  objec- 
tions to  the  dramatic  critic  is  that  he  always  thinks 
in  terms  of  the  theatre.  When  an  undertaker  falls 
in  love  with  a  woman,  he  does  not  visualize  his 
beloved  as  a  corpse.  When  a  chemist  falls  in  love, 
he  doesn't  appraise  his  fair  one  in  terms  of  so  much 
hydrogen,  chlorine  and  Johann  Hoff's  Malt  Extract 
— or  whatever  is  the  combination  that  goes  to  make 
up  human  life.  But  the  dramatic  critic  is  always 
odiously  saturated  with  the  things  of  his  trade. 
The  critic  being,  obviously,  at  least  one  hundred 
times  more  a  theatregoer  than  the  man  to  whom 
theatregoing  is  not  a  trade  but  a  diversion,  is  at 
least  one  hundred  times  more  thoroughly  imbued 
with  the  things  of  the  theatre.  Visiting  a  great 
man-o'-war  on  a  gala  day,  he  is  impressed  not  so 
much  with  the  thing  itself  as  with  the  notion  that 
it  looks  like  the  second  act  of  "Pinafore."  .  .  . 
Wall  Street  is  not  Wall  Street  to  him :  it  is  merely 
the  big  scene  in  "The  Pit."  .  .  .  The  voluminous 
and   exotic  bill-of-fare   in  a  German   restaurant 


196  COMEDIANS   ALL 

looks  to  him  exactly  like  the  cast  of  "Ben  Hur." 
.  .  .  How  then  does  the  dramatic  critic  justify 
his  existence?  He  believes  that  there  is  room  for 
experienced  opinion  on  the  drama  and  that  the 
best  man  to  voice  such  opinion  is  himself — the  man 
who  gets  free  seats — since  it  is  impossible  to  ex- 
pect any  opinion  worth  hearing  from  anyone  so 
imbecile  as  to  pay  two  dollars  and  a  half  to  get 
into  the  average  American  theatre. 

§  67 

The  Chewing  Gum  Drama. — In  the  program  of 
each  New  York  theatre  there  has  been  appearing  for 
years  a  conspicuous  advertisement  of  the  Adams 
Chewing  Gum  Company  which  in  heroic  type  so  in- 
forms the  audience:  *^All  those  who  have  to  make 
good  and  understand  that  no  excuse  goes,  chew 
gum.     It  is  the  one  ideal  habit  of  the  alert!** 

Since  the  Adams  Chewing  Gum  Company  is  un- 
questionably an  astute  concern  and  one  that 
shrewdly  sees  to  it  that  its  advertising  is  placed 
where  it  will  most  impress  and  convince,  there  fol- 
lows the  syllogism  (1)  that  the  Adams  Chewing 
Gum  Company  must  have  a  pretty  good  idea  as  to 
the  precise  quality  of  the  New  York  theatre  audi- 
ence, (2)  that  whereas  one  has  heard  not  so  much 


CHEWING  GUM  DRAMA  197 
as  a  suspicion  of  facetious  comment  on  the  adver- 
tisement from  a  member  of  a  New  York  theatre 
audience,  the  meat  of  the  advertisement  must  be 
concurred  in  by  that  audience  or,  at  least,  not 
found  bizarre,  and  (3)  that,  therefore,  the  New 
York  theatre  audience  which  the  dramatist  and  pro- 
ducer must  please  is  made  up  of  a  group  of  per- 
sons who  believe  that  Dr.  Beeman  is  a  greater  man 
than  Beethoven. 

With  a  few  distinguished  exceptions,  the  drama 
divulged  in  New  York  year  by  year  hence  con- 
tinues to  be  of  the  chewing  gum  brand.  For  one 
presentation  like  the  sprightly  "Le  Roi"  of  de  Cail- 
lavet,  de  Flers  and  Arene,  there  is  ever  the  usual 
plenitude  of  dramatic  opera  of  the  kidney  of 
"Broken  Threads,"  in  which  the  hero,  cross-ex- 
amined by  the  heroine,  admits  that  there  is  another 
woman  whom  he  has  loved  and  will  never  forget, 
only  to  confess  finally,  after  an  appropriate 
amount  of  quivery  dialogue  on  the  E  string,  that 
he  has  been  referring  to  his  mother.  And  for  one 
representation  of  Pinero's  genuine  comedy  romance 
"Quex,"  ever  a  full  measure  of  bogus  romances 
after  the  fashion  of  "The  Pipes  of  Pan,"  in  which 
the  Stars,  the  Moon,  the  Boul'  Mich',  the  Call  of 
Spring  and  the  rest  of  the  hackneyed  blubber 
troupe  are  trotted  out  on  their  alpenstocks  and 


198  COMEDIANS   ALL 

wheel-chairs  to  make  calves'  eyes  at  the  Philistine 
tear  duct. 

§  68 

/.  Hartley  Manners. — The  philosophy  of  J. 
Hartley  Manners,  as  typically  revealed  in  such  of 
his  plays  as,  for  example,  "The  Harp  of  Life," 
has  all  the  efficiency  of  a  bloodhound  with  a  cold. 
Seizing  in  this  instance  upon  the  theme  maneu- 
vered by  Wedekind  in  "The  Awakening  of  Spring," 
by  Cosmo  Hamilton  in  "The  Blindness  of  Virtue," 
by  Ludwig  Thoma,  satirically,  in  "Lottie's  Birth- 
day," and  by  writers  on  end  fore  and  aft,  Mr. 
Manners  contrives  by  a  masterly  application  of 
cerebral  infelicities  to  make  of  that  theme  a  thing 
of  serio-comic  fluff.  Mr.  Manners  believes  that  a 
young  boy's  curiosity  in  matters  of  sex  may  best 
be  stifled  by  telling  him  plainly  about  such  mat- 
ters, a  theory  somewhat  akin  to  a  belief  that  the 
best  way  in  which  to  keep  a  young  boy  from  de- 
siring to  taste  champagne  is  to  open  a  bottle  in  his 
presence.  Mr.  Manners  is  respectfully  referred 
to  Havelock  Ellis.  Mr.  Manners  should  know  that 
temptation  and  warning  are  twin  sisters.  To  this, 
the  admonitory  "wet  paint"  placard  and  the  pro- 
voking impulse  to  touch  a  finger  to  the  paint  to 
see  if  it  actually  is  wet  off^er  some  testimony. 


J.  HARTLEY  MANNERS  199 
So,  too,  by  way  of  testimony  we  have  keep-ofF- 
the-grass  signs,  prohibition  and  married  women. 
Mr.  Manners  also  believes  that  a  boy's  mother,  for 
the  prosperity  of  his  future  manhood,  should  be 
his  sole  playmate  (the  Oberon  complex),  and  that 
the  way  in  which  best  to  make  him  respect  and  be 
faithful  to  one  woman  is  to  be  told  suddenly  that 
another  woman  whom  he  has  respected  and  fallen 
in  love  with  has  been  faithful  to  some  half  dozen 
men.  Mr.  Manners  is,  in  fine,  the  sort  of  dramatist 
who  pours  the  sugar  on  the  coffee  instead  of  the 
coffee  on  the  sugar. 

§  69 

The  Comic  Motion  Picture. — The  popular  Mr. 
Charles  Chaplin's  latest  motion  pictures  provide 
a  still  further  testimonial  to  the  versatility  of  the 
fellow  as  a  low  comedian.  A  touch  of  Chaplin 
now  and  again  is  a  serviceable  diversion  against 
the  laboured  unfunniness  of  the  posturing  artists 
of  Broadway.  He  is,  however,  to  be  taken  in 
small  doses,  like  a  few  leaves  of  an  artichoke 
or  a  sip  of  Vieille  Cure.  Too  much  of  him  dulls 
the  palate,  impairs  the  taste.  And  yet,  for  all  the 
splendour  of  the  fellow's  estate  in  this  fair  re- 
public, it  is  but  true  that  not  only  is  he  not  nearly 
so  good  a  comedian  as  his  brother,  Mr.  Sidney 


200  COMEDIANS   ALL 

Giaplin  (whose  "The  Plumber"  is  by  all  odds  the 
most  adroitly  conceived  and  cleverly  executed  mo- 
tion picture  thus  far  revealed  to  the  public — I 
offer  here  less  my  personal  and  very  largely  un- 
substantial opinion  of  such  things  than  a  consensus 
of  more  authentic  judgments)  but  more,  not  nearly 
so  genuinely  happy  a  pantaloon  as  several  un- 
identified and  tough-bottomed  fellows  who  cavort 
through  the  so-called  Keystone  screen  comedies  di- 
rected by  a  Mr.  Mack  Sennett.  This  Sennett  is 
probably  the  most  fecund  inventor  and  merchant 
of  the  slapstick  masque  the  civilized  world  has 
yet  seen.  A  spectator  of  but  very  few  of  his  pic- 
tures, I  am  yet  fascinated  by  the  resourceful 
imagination  of  the  fellow.  An  erstwhile  chorus 
man  in  the  Casino  music  shows,  Sennett  has  done 
the  work  he  set  out  to  do  with  a  skill  so  complete, 
with  a  fertility  so  copious,  that  he  has  graduated 
himself  as  the  foremost  bachelor  of  custard-pie 
arts,  the  foremost  conductor  of  the  bladder.  He 
is,  in  short,  the  very  best  entrepreneur  of  low 
comedy  the  amusement  world  has  known.  He  has 
made  probably  twice  as  many  millions  laugh  as 
have  all  of  Shakespeare's  clowns  and  all  the  music 
show  comedians  on  earth  rolled  together.  And 
laughter  knows  no  caste,  no  altitude  of  brow.  I 
do  not  know  whether  this  Sennett  imagines  all  his 


COMIC  MOTION  PICTURE  201 
scenarios.  But  whether  he  imagines  them  all  or 
only  a  few,  whether  a  portion  of  the  credit  goes 
to  his  writing  staff  or  not,  Sennett  himself  is  with- 
out doubt  the  inspirational  spring.  There  is  more 
loud  laughter  in  his  picture  showing  the  fire-hose- 
flooded  house  with  the  bathtub  containing  a  flapper 
working  loose  from  its  moorings  and  starting  on 
a  mad  career  down  the  stairs,  out  the  door  and 
down  the  turbulent  gutters  to  the  Pacific  Ocean, 
and  with  the  populace  in  avid  pursuit,  than  there  is 
in  a  hundred  farces  by  Brandon  Thomases.  And 
there  is  as  large  an  intestinal  glee  in  his  picture 
showing  the  wind-storm  blowing  the  nocturnal 
pedestrian  into  a  strange  house  and  into  a  strange 
bed  already  occupied  by  the  person  of  a  sweet  one 
as  there  was  in  a  single  serious  drama  by  the  late 
Steele  Mackaye.  These  Sennett  things,  too,  must 
of  course  be  used  sparingly.  One  can  no  more 
endure  them  often — every  week,  say — ^than  one 
could  endure  every  week  a  new  book  of  Ade's 
fables  in  slang  or  a  new  farce  by  Bernard  Shaw. 
It  is  the  nature  of  such  things — excellent  as  they 
individually  are — that  their  zest  departs  when  ap- 
proached too  frequently.  But  a  farce  by  Shaw  or 
a  fable  by  Ade  or  a  trouser  sonata  by  Sennett  is 
each  in  itself  a  distinctive,  albeit  remotely  related, 
work  of  art. 


202  COMEDIANS   ALL 

§  70 

Art  Via  the  Side-Street, — ^That  the  stage  intro- 
duction to  America  of  the  rare  and  imaginative 
work  of  Dimsany  would  eventually  have  to  be 
vouchsafed  by  amateurs  was,  of  course,  to  be  ex- 
pected. Just  as  it  is  a  tradition  on  the  part  of  our 
professional  managers  that,  in  a  military  play,  no 
matter  where  a  soldier  is  wounded  he  must  always 
wear  a  bandage  around  his  forehead,  so  is  it  a 
tradition  of  our  theatre  that  either  amateurs  or 
Arnold  Daly  must  finally  be  entrusted  with  intro- 
ducing to  the  American  public  all  the  really  worth- 
while dramatists.  Thus,  Shaw  had  to  be  given  his 
first  American  hearing  up  a  side-street.  So,  too, 
Echegaray  (at  Mrs.  Osbom's  Playhouse).  So,  too, 
Strindberg.  So,  too,  Bjomson.  So,  too,  St.  John 
Ervine,  and  Bergstrom,  and  Tchekhov,  and  An- 
dreyev, and  all  the  rest. 

§71 

The  Censor. — ^How  like  a  hair  the  line  that  sepa- 
rates respect  and  ridicule!  What  if,  at  the  height 
of  his  moral  crusading  power,  a  waggish  theatrical 
manager  could  have  got  hold  of  a  photograph  of 
Anthony  Comstock  taken  at  the  age  of  two  show- 


ON   CRITICAL   PREJUDICE     203 

ing  him — as  was  the  genial  mode  in  those  days — 
stark  naked! 

§  72 

On  Critical  Prejudice. — The  dramatic  critic  who 
is  without  prejudice  is  on  the  plane  with  the  gen- 
eral who  does  not  believe  in  taking  human  life. 
He  is  unfit  for  his  job,  out  of  place,  a  strayed  buf- 
foon. To  be  without  prejudice  is  to  be  without 
learning,  without  viewpoint,  without  philosophy, 
without  courage;  in  short,  a  mental  neutral.  The 
ideal  critic  is  he  who  venerates  like  a  Turk,  who 
hates  like  a  Corsican — and  who  knows  no  compro- 
mise on  middle  ground.  His  estimate  of  art  is 
his  estimate  of  Madeira:  it  is  either  good  or  bad. 
There  is  neither  such  thing  as  fair  art  nor  fair 
Madeira.  His  business  is  not  to  encourage  signs  of 
talent.  His  business  is  simply  with  talent  or  lack 
of  talent.  He  is  not  a  school  teacher:  he  is  the 
school  teacher's  husband.  He  is  not  a  youth,  open 
to  diis  change  and  to  that,  but  a  man  whose  mind 
has  walked  the  Louvres  of  the  world  and  is  just 
a  bit  tired.  He  is  not  a  judge:  he  is  that  which, 
being  the  lingering  bloom  of  judgments  long  since 
withered,  is  harsher,  more  relentless  than  judge: 
he  is  reverie  and  reminiscence. 


204  COMEDIANS   ALL 

§  73 

The  Commercial  Theatre. — As  only  a  million- 
aire, whatever  the  depth  or  quality  of  his  artistic 
appreciations,  can  buy  the  finest  art  treasures,  so 
can  only  a  rich  theatre  buy  the  treasures  of  new 
dramatic  art  and  present  them  as  they  should  be 
presented.  There  is  much  nonsense  written  con- 
trariwise by  amiable  souls  who  agreeably  believe 
that  the  best  dramatists  are  glad  to  give  away  their 
plays  for  nothing  if  only  to  serve  the  cause  of  art 
and  who  believe,  further,  that  these  plays  may  be 
presented  with  rare  beauty  in  side-street  little 
theatres  by  amateurs  who  are  occultly  able  to  make 
thirty-eight  dollars'  worth  of  cheese-cloth  look  like 
three  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  Gordon  Craig. 
The  notion  gained  from  reading  breathless  arti- 
cles by  visiting  school-teachers  to  the  effect  that 
the  greatest  art  theatre  in  Russia — if  not  in  the 
world — ^was  operated  with  the  few  dollars  taken  in 
from  the  small  audiences  is  a  notion  more  pretty 
than  true.  The  greatest  art  theatre  in  Russia — 
if  not  in  the  world — enjoyed  from  its  very  incep- 
tion the  fat  and  liberal  sustaining  purse  of  a 
wealthy  champion,  without  which  it  could  never 
have  existed.  Reinhardt  and  his  fine  enterprises  in 
Berlin  were  financed  by  wealthy  social  pushers. 


THECOMMERCIAL  THEATRE  205 
The  Odeon  of  Antoine,  and  the  National  of  Stock- 
holm, and  the  Espanol  of  Madrid,  were  subven- 
tioned  theatres.  And  even  our  own  Washington 
Square  Players,  though  it  is  not  generally  known, 
were  compelled  to  rely — for  all  their  noble  ef- 
fort to  make  cheese-cloth  look  like  satin — on  the 
bank-book  of  a  Wall  Street  banker.  And  though 
these  young  impresarios  did  much  excellent  work, 
the  fact  persists  that  when  this  banker  withdrew 
his  life-giving  purse  in  order  to  devote  that  purse 
to  the  institution  in  America  of  Copeau's  Theatre 
du  Vieux  Colombier,  the  art  theatre  of  the  Wash- 
ington Square  Players  had  to  throw  in  the  towel 
and  close  its  doors. 

The  most  grasping  dramatists  are  generally  not 
(as  is  commonly  supposed)  the  hack  playwrights 
of  Broadway,  the  Strand  and  the  Boulevards,  but 
the  best — or  at  least  the  most  famous — drama- 
tists. Rostand,  with  the  help  of  shrewd  counsel- 
lors, practised  upon  Charles  Frohman's  French 
agent  an  auction  sale  of  the  American  rights  to 
"Chantecler"  so  adroitly  manipulated  that  Froh- 
man  was  compelled  to  pay  an  exorbitant  price  for 
those  rights.  Shaw's  contract,  which  he  has  written 
himself  and  caused  to  be  printed  at  his  own  ex- 
pense, is  three  feet  long  and,  in  addition  to  de- 
manding a  flat  fifteen  per  cent  of  the  gross  re- 


206  COMEDIANS   ALL 

ceipts  (the  customary  percentage  is  five,  seven  and 
one-half,  and  ten  per  cent  on  the  first  five  thousand, 
seven  thousand  five  hundred,  and  ten  thousand  dol- 
lars respectively)  clairvoyantly  demands  a  share 
of  all  tickets  sold  to  hotel  agencies  and  speculators 
at  an  advance  over  the  box-office  price.  To  obtain 
the  plays  of  such  dramatists  as  these  takes  not  mere 
"art  talk,"  as  the  Rialto  phrase  has  it,  but  cold 
hard  cash — and  a  great  deal  of  it.  And  to  obtain 
even  the  good  theatre  plays  of  such  considerably 
lesser  playwrights  as  Sacha  Guitry,  it  is  necessary 
to  put  up  a  substantial  bonus  of  from  five  to  ten 
thousand  dollars.  The  American  rights  to  Knob- 
lauch's "Kismet"  had  to  be  bought  from  Oscar 
Asche,  its  English  producer,  with  an  advance  pay- 
ment of  many  thousands  of  dollars;  and  for  the 
American  rights  to  the  spectacle  "Chu  Chin  Chow" 
the  local  impresario  was  compelled  to  lay  out  to 
the  same  British  producer  an  advance  of  so  much 
as  fifty  thousand  dollars. 

A  theatre  may  have  Shakespeare  and  Moliere 
for  the  asking,  but  it  cannot  have  the  best  in 
modem  drama  unless  its  purse  is  well  lined.  A 
poor  theatre,  further,  though  it  may  have  Shake- 
speare and  Moliere  for  the  mere  taking,  cannot 
present  Shakespeare  and  Moliere  beautifully,  sat- 
isfactorily,   however    much    one    may    pretend, 


EDWARD    SHELDON  207 

for  the   brave   poor  theatre's  sake,   that   it  can. 
§  74 

Edward  Sheldon. — Were  Edward  Sheldon  com- 
missioned to  touch  up,  for  example,  Ibsen's 
"Ghosts"  for  the  contemporary  stage,  it  is  an 
eminently  safe  wager  that  he  would  go  about  the 
enterprise  something  like  this : 

OSWALD 

{Sits  in  the  arm-chair  without  moving.  Suddenly,  as 
in  the  distance  a  street-organ  is  heard  playing  "O 
Parigi"  from  "Traviata") 

Mother,  give  me  the  sun. 

MRS.    ALVING 

(By  the  table,  starts  and  looks  at  him.) 
What  do  you  say? 

OSWALD 

(Repeats,  in  a  dull,  toneless  voice  as  the  street-organ 
dies  away  and  there  is  heard,  from  a  neighbouring  house, 
the  voice  of  a  young  girl  humming  Johann  Strauss* 
"Blue  Danube"  waltz.) 

The  sun.     The  sun. 

MRS.   ALVING 

(Goes  to  him.) 

Oswald,  what  is  the  matter  with  you? 

OSWALD 

(His  muscles  relax;  his  face  becomes  expressionless; 
his  eyes  take  on  a  glassy  stare.  .  .  .  In  the  next  room 


208  COMEDIANS   ALL 

a  phonograph   begins   to   play   "Sempre   Amar"   from 
"Faust.") 
The  sun — 

MRS.   ALVING 

{Quivering  with  terror.) 

What  is  this?  {Shrieks)  Oswald!  What  is  the 
matter  with  you?  {Falls  on  her  knees  beside  him  and 
shakes  him)  Oswald!  Oswald!  Look  at  me!  Don't 
you  know  me? 

OSWALD 

{Tonelessly  as  before.  The  phonograph  stops. 
There  is  a  pause.  In  the  distance  is  heard  faintly  a 
church  choir  singing  Rheinberger's  Requiem  for  Soldiers 
of  the  Franco-Prussian   War.) 

The  sun — ^the  sun! 

MRS.   ALVING 

{Springs  up  in  despair,  entwines  her  hands  in  her  hair 
and  shrieks.) 

I  cannot  bear  it!  {Whispers,  as  though  petrified.)  I 
cannot  bear  it!  Never!  {Suddenly)  Where  has  he 
got  them?  {Fumbles  hastily  in  his  breast)  Here! 
{Shrinks  back  a  few  steps  and  screams.)  No,  no,  no! 
Yes!     No,  no! 

{She  stands  a  few  steps  away  from  him  with  her  hands 
twisted  in  her  hair  and  stares  at  him  in  speechless 
horror.  As  she  stands  so,  there  is  heard  approaching 
in  the  street  below  a  party  of  merrymakers  with  a  band 
playing  Parry's  "The  Prodigal  Son.") 

OSWALD 

{Motionless  as  before) 
The  Sim — ^the  sun! 


MIXED    IDENTITY  209 

-  {The  hand  gradually  dies  out  in  the  distance.  There 
is  a  long  pause.  From  some  place  far  away  come  the 
strains  of  TschaikowskCs  ''Pathetique"  as  the  curtain 
slowly  falls.) 

Mr.  Sheldon's  inordinate  affection  for  piccolos,  fife 
and  drum  corps,  hautboys,  love-birds,  harps,  choirs, 
music-boxes,  military  bands,  street  and  church  or- 
gans and  Victrolas  in  the  wings  is  instanced  anew 
in  his  every  play.  "Music  off"  is  to  the  Sheldon 
faith  what  clothes  off  is  to  the  Ziegfeld.  As  a 
result  his  plays  and  his  revisions  of  plays  generally 
give  one  the  impression  that  the  theatre  in  which 
they  happen  to  be  presented  is  situated  always 
next  door  to  Aeolian  Hall. 

§  75 

Mixed  Identity. — ^When  plays  having  mixed  iden- 
tity as  their  theme  fail,  they  fail  not  because 
the  audience  is  unwilling  to  grant  that  a  man 
might  conceivably  be  unable  to  distinguish  his 
wife  from  her  delectable  twin  sister,  but  because 
it  is  unwilling  to  grant  that  the  man  would  con- 
ceivably try. 

§  76 

Unfrocking  the  Pretender. — In  view  of  the  in' 
creasing  prevalence  of  the  I&zy  and  detrimental 


210  COMEDIANS   ALL 

custom  of  so  many  of  our  lady  players  to  per- 
mit expensive  and  magnificent  toilettes  to  substi- 
tute for  talent  and  hard  work,  I  have  a  sugges- 
tion to  offer  our  more  sincere  and  serious  pro- 
ducers, a  suggestion  which — will  they  carry  it  out 
— cannot,  I  believe,  fail  in  time  to  improve  to  a 
very  considerable  degree  the  quality  of  acting 
in  the  native  theatre. 

My  suggestion:  Make  the  ladies  rehearse  their 
roles  in  the  altogether. 

§  77 

The  Professor. — One  of  the  cardinal  rules 
preached  and  insisted  upon  by  the  doctors  of  play- 
writing  is  that  no  play  can  possibly  succeed  and 
prosper  if  its  ending  is  not  precisely  that  ending 
— whether  "happy"  or  "unhappy" — for  which  the 
audience  has  been  made  to  hope.  "Peter  Pan," 
with  its  audience  invariably  disappointed  in  the 
hope  that  Peter  may  remain  forever  with  the 
youngsters  the  audience  has  been  drawn  to  love, 
was  the  late  Charles  Frohman's  most  lucrative 
property,  has  made  a  fortune  for  Maude  Adams 
and  Barrie,  has  brought  a  thousand  dollars  a  week 
for  the  St.  Louis,  Missouri,  stock  rights,  and 
has  thus  far  been  vainly  sought  from  Barrie  by 


LAUGHTER  AND  THE  ONION  211 
eager  moving  picture  impresarios  on  a  bid  of 
$200,000. 

§  78 

Laughter  and  the  Onion. — ^Why  should  the  men- 
tion of  an  onion  infallibly  provoke  laughter  in  a 
popular  theatre  audience?  Because  the  onion  has 
a  grave  bouquet?  Hardly,  since  the  jimson-weed 
{Diplotaxis  muralis),  which  has  a  far  graver,  pro- 
vokes not  the  slightest  laughter.  Because  the  onion 
makes  tears  come  to  the  eye?  Impossible,  since 
smelling  salts,  which  distil  tears  twofold,  brew 
not  even  a  faint  snicker.  Because  the  onion,  when 
eaten,  imparts  to  the  breath  a  flooring  sachet? 
No,  since  Torreya  nucifera  food-oil,  which  imparts 
even  more  mortal  zephyrs,  extracts  nary  a  weak 
chuckle.  Because  onion  is  a  word  of  comic 
sound?  Scarcely,  since  union,  which  makes  no 
one  laugh,  is  a  word  of  equally  comic  sound. 
Well  then,  simply  because  an  onion  is  an  onion? 
Again  impossible,  since  a  scallion,  which  is 
equally  an  onion,  doesn't  elicit  so  much  as  a  gig- 
gle. 

§  79 

The  Broadway  Curtain  Speech. — ^While   it   is 
quite  true  that  the  art  of  a  playwright  is  not  al- 


212  COMEDIANS   ALL 

ways  soundly  to  be  measured  by  the  sort  of  cur- 
tain speech  the  playwright  makes  on  the  opening 
night  of  his  play,  I  yet  know  of  no  surer  brief  and 
estimate  of  the  art  of  such  a  Broadway  Sardou 
as  Mr.  Willard  Mack  than  that  automatically  pro- 
vided by  the  august  gentleman  himself  in  his  con- 
duct and  oral  manifestations  on  such  high  occa- 
sions. I  have  heard  Mr.  Mack  address  the  flock 
on  at  least  a  half  dozen  proud  evenings  and  on  each 
such  memorable  moment  Mr.  Mack  has  summed 
up  Mr.  Mack  and  the  Mack  art  very  much  more 
pungently  and  illuminatingly  than  the  most  acute 
of  his  critics. 

The  most  recent  indulgence  in  self-appraisal 
on  the  part  of  this  Mr.  Mack  occurred  not  long  ago 
after  the  curtain  in  the  Forty-eighth  Street  Theatre 
had  come  down  on  the  third  act  of  his  newest  art- 
piece,  a  serio-comic  war  composition  bight  "The 
Big  Chance."  The  applause  liberal,  the  master  of 
the  asbestos  was  constrained  to  yank  the  curtain 
up  and  down  some  nine  times.  On  the  first  yank, 
Mr.  Mack — resplendent  in  the  outfit  of  a  brigadier- 
general,  for  the  Mack  virtuosity  extends  to  his- 
trionism  as  well  as  to  literature — was  beheld  bow- 
ing with  elaborate  and  cavalierly  deference  at 
Miss  Nash,  the  leading  lady.  On  the  second  yank, 
the  modest  Mack  bent  himself  so  far  in  at  the 


THE   CURTAIN    SPEECH      213 

diaphragm  in  his  humble  obeisance  to  Miss  Nash 
that  he  almost  lost  his  balance.  On  the  third 
yank,  Mr.  Mack,  growing  elated  over  the  enthusi- 
asm of  the  stalls,  gave  Miss  Nash  a  loud  con- 
gratulatory slap  upon  her  decollete  back.  On 
the  fourth  yank,  Mr.  Mack,  his  elation  growing 
visibly,  imparted  to  the  Nash  back  with  his  palm 
still  another  whack  that  made  a  hollow  reverber- 
ating sound  as  if  the  lady  were  just  getting  out  of 
a  bathtub.  On  the  next  hoist,  Mr.  Mack,  now  nigh 
unable  to  contain  himself  over  the  tribute  of  the 
art  lovers  out  front,  grabbed  Miss  Nash  and  im- 
printed a  loud  smack  upon  her  hand.  Thrice 
more  was  the  curtain  then  lifted  and  thrice  more 
did  the  overjoyed  Mack  pay  sonorous  osculatory 
homage  to  the  Nash  fingers,  wrist  and  forearm. 
And  now,  the  curtain  up  again,  the  applause  wax- 
ing hotter  and  his  innate  modesty  overcome  by  the 
demonstration,  Mr.  Mack,  with  the  reluctance  of  a 
pop-gun,  stepped  to  the  footlights. 

"Speech!  Speech!"  cried  someone  in  the  back 
aisle,  presumably  under  the  impression  that  Mr. 
Mack  had  stepped  to  the  footlights  to  get  a  hair- 
cut. 

At  the  cry,  it  was  plainly  obvious  that  Mr.  Mack 
was  taken  completely  aback.  Surprise  was  written 
clearly  upon  his  every  feature.     Surprise  and  an 


214  COMEDIANS   ALL 

overwhelming  sense  of  flattery.  Mr.  Mack  de- 
murely dropped  his  eyes.  That  one  should  be 
paid  so  great  an  encomium!  But  again  the  cry 
resounded  from  the  back  aisle.  Plainly  enough, 
whether  he  willed  it  or  no,  it  was  now  necessary 
for  Mr.  Mack,  however  consuming  his  disrelish, 
to  say  a  few  words.  A  hush.  ...  A  pause.  .  .  . 
Out  in  the  lobby,  a  pin  dropped.  .  .  .  And  pres- 
ently Mr.  Mack  spoke.  As  hitherto  and  always, 
not  in  laudation  of  himself,  but  of  another.  This 
time,  of  Mr.  A.  H.  Woods  who  produced  his  opus, 
the  liberal  and  unshakably  confident  Mr.  A.  H. 
Woods  whose  dogged  financial  plunging  in  the 
matter  of  this  particular  production — by  many  con- 
demned to  failure — Mr.  Mack  so  greatly  admired. 
To  this  habit  of  dogged  plunging,  Mr.  Mack 
wished  to  pay  tribute.  He  cleared  his  throat  for 
the  purpose.     Then— 

"I  want  to  call  your  attention,  ladies  and  gentle- 
men, to  Al  Woods,"  spake  he  eloquently  and  feel- 
ingly— "Al  Woods  whose  dogmatic  plundering  has 
made  this  play  possible!" 

And  this  is  why  I  have  observed  that  while  it  is 
quite  true  that  the  art  of  a  playwright  is  not  al- 
ways soundly  to  be  measured  by  the  sort  of  curtain 
speech  the  playwright  makes  on  the  opening  night 
of  his  play,  I  yet  know  of  no  surer  brief  and  esti- 


A    SAMPLE   MASTERPIECE     215 

mate  of  the  art  of  such  a  Broadway  Sardou  as  Mr. 
Willard  Mack  than  that  automatically  provided 
by  Mr.  Mack  himself  in  his  conduct  and  oral  mani- 
festations on  such  high  occasions. 

§  80 

The  Realistic  Drama. — If,  as  many  of  the  so- 
called  constructive  critics  maintain,  it  is  true  that 
our  realistic  American  drama  is  eminently  success- 
ful in  holding  the  mirror  up  to  nature,  it  must 
follow  as  a  logical  corollary  that  nine-tenths  of 
the  important  events  in  our  national  life  occur 
in  the  libraries  of  private  houses,  and  that,  what- 
ever their  nature,  they  are  never  without  their  love 
interest,  comic  relief,  and  display  of  the  latest 
styles  in  women's  frocks. 

§  81 

Account  of  a  Sample  Masterpiece  Bom  of  the 
Great  War. — It  is  called  "Lilac  Time."  It  was 
written  by  the  Mesdames  Murfin  and  Cowl.  It 
is  a  thing  of  pretty  actors  in  soldiers'  suits,  peri- 
odic off-stage  bass  drum  beats  bursting  in  the  air, 
promiscuous  fervent  handshaking  of  the  bowed- 
head,  I-understand-old-man  species,  leading  man 


216  COMEDIANS   ALL 

with  cheeks  tanned  by  the  make-up  weather  who 
swallows  when  he  makes  love  and  who  at  great 
length  in  each  act  is  eulogized  as  a  hero  for  hav- 
ing performed  some  feat  of  bravery  in  the  wings 
during  the  preceding  act,  leading  lady  in  peasant 
girl's  dresses  by  Lady  Duff-Gordon  who  digs  into 
the  old  trunk  and  sentimentally  draws  forth  her 
mother's  wedding  veil,  the  playing  of  national  airs 
as  four  stagehands  make  appropriate  sounds  be- 
neath the  window  as  of  a  regiment  marching  off 
to  battle,  the  usual  I-knew-your-father-young-man 
sympathetic  old  Major,  and  veteran  of  the  Franco- 
Prussian  war  now  old  and  gray  who  gives  an  imi- 
tation of  Henry  Irving  playing  "Waterloo"  and 
who,  after  suflFering  a  sudden  and  complete  phy- 
ical  collapse  following  an  hysterical  reminiscence 
of  valorous  bygone  days,  sinks  into  a  chair  and 
promptly  crosses  his  legs.  .  .  . 

The  scene  of  it  is  laid  in  Berlitz,  France,  and 
the  time  is  the  war  year  1918.  Judging  from  the 
numerous  outbursts  of  song  on  the  part  of  the  sol- 
diers, now  in  solo,  now  in  barbershop  quartet 
grouped  around  a  drinking  table,  it  would  seem 
that  the  authors'  conception  of  war  is  that  it  is 
something  like  going  to  college.  Described  upon 
the  program  as  "a  play  of  youth  and  springtime," 
like  so  many  other  "plays  of  youth  and  spring- 


THEBELASCOTECHNIC     217 

time,"  it  presents  us  in  the  theatre  with  the  spec- 
tacle of  a  mere  lad  of  forty-seven  and  his  love 
for  a  slip  of  a  girl  of  thirty-six  or  so,  their  moist- 
eyed  animadversions  on  "the  lilac  time  of  youth" 
in  the  old  garden  at  purple  gelatine-slide  time, 
the  summoning  of  the  lad  to  his  country's  service, 
the  necessary  postponement  of  the  wedding  that 
was  to  have  been  performed  that  very  morning  by 
the  village  Cure  and  the  lowering  of  the  curtain 
for  a  moment  to  indicate  the  impromptu  passing  of 
the  young  lady's  virginity,  the  wistful  looking  out 
of  the  window  for  the  lover's  return  with  one  hand 
clasping  the  baby  clothes  upon  which  the  young 
lady  has  been  sewing,  the  message  that  tells  of 
the  lover's  home-coming,  the  bromo-seltzer  ingenue 
jumpings  up  and  down,  the  second  message  that 
tells  of  the  lover's  fall  in  battle,  the  young  lady's 
tearful  eyes  and  nose.  .  .  . 

§  82 

The  Belasco  Technic. — It  is  the  general  produc- 
ing technic  of  David  Belasco  first  to  pick  out  as 
poor  a  play  as  he  can  find  and  then  assiduously  to 
devote  his  talents  to  distracting  the  audience's  at- 
tention from  its  mediocrity. 


218  COMEDIANS   ALL 

§  83 

The  Commercial  Public. — How  many,  after  all, 
the  pleasant  and  meritorious  moments  in  our  so- 
called  commercial  theatre,  moments  that  have  been 
permitted  by  a  dense  or  careless  public  and  an 
equally  dense  or  careless  professional  criticism  to 
pass  comparatively  unnoticed;  or  else  have  been 
deliberately  snickered  out  of  court.  Consider  the 
lonely,  orphaned  scene  in  Augustus  Thomas'  "The 
Ranger,"  the  scene  between  the  two  characters  in 
the  beleaguered  stockade  and  the  recollection  by 
one  of  them  of  a  similar  situation  in  "The  Girl 
I  Left  Behind  Me."  Recall  the  final  curtain  of 
Tom  Barry's  "Upstart,"  with  the  descending  asbes- 
tos abruptly  cutting  off  the  flow  of  the  young  up- 
lifter's  passionate  rhetoric.  What,  too,  of  the 
Chopin  motif  through  Molnar's  "Where  Ignor- 
ance is  Bliss"  and  the  caretaker's  tag,  "They've  all 
gone  to  the  moving  pictures,"  in  Lennox  Robin- 
son's "Patriots."  Consider  the  bit  in  Gillette's 
"Clarice"  when  the  doomed  man  tears  up  the  little 
sketches  over  which  the  girl  has  so  bravely  and 
painstakingly  laboured.  And  the  resigned  smile 
of  the  husband  and  father  at  the  close  of  Harold 
Chapin's  little  tragedy,  "The  Dumb  and  the  Blind." 
And  the  scene  between  the  ageing  bachelor,  still 


ON  NOMENCLATURE  219 
striving  to  be  young,  and  the  life-filled  flapper 
in  the  second  act — I  believe  it's  the  second — of 
Hubert  Henry  Davies'  "A  Single  Man."  And  the 
scene  between  the  suffragette  and  the  faun  in 
Knoblauch's  play.  And  the  "But  we  thought  you 
didn't  believe  in  marriage"  and  the  "Oh,  but  my 
case  is  diff'erent"  scene  in  Fulda's  translated 
"Our  Wives."  These  are  but  the  handful  that 
come  to  mind  at  the  moment.  And  they  occurred, 
all  of  them,  in  commercial  failures. 

§  84 

On  Nomenclature. — While  it  may  be  true  that 
a  rose  by  any  other  name  would  smell  as  sweet, 
it  is  more  or  less  certain  that  it  wouldn't  seem  to 
smell  as  sweet  if  it  so  happened  that  it  was  called 
a  rosenberg.  And  while  the  Constitution  of  the 
United  States  theoretically  maintains  that  any 
American-bom  citizen  may  possibly  become  Presi- 
dent, it  is  equally  more  or  less  certain  that  a  man 
with  a  name  like  Bruno  Gintz  or  Ambrose  Wiffel 
would  stand  a  very  poor  chance  of  seeing  the  in- 
side of  the  White  House.  Even  if,  indeed,  the 
rival  candidate  were  Josephus  Daniels. 

What's  in  a  name?  The  question  may  be  an- 
swered very  simply.     Say  you  are  a  stranger  in 


220  COMEDIANS   ALL 

the  city,  are  seized  upon  a  remote  highway  with 
a  sudden  cramp,  and  desire  to  consult  a  physician 
forthwith.  A  mile  down  the  street,  you  come  upon 
a  building  in  the  front  windows  of  which  are 
visible  the  shingles  of  three  doctors.  The  first 
shingle  reads:  "Dr.  Ignatz  Loos."  The  second 
shingle  reads:  "Dr.  Hugo  Gula."  The  third 
shingle  reads:  "Dr.  John  J.  Smith."  Which  of 
these  three  doctors  would  get  the  trade  of  your 
cramp?  Plainly  enough,  the  last.  Why,  you  will 
have  to  answer  for  yourself.  But,  however  you 
answer,  you  come  finally  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
fundamental  impulse  that  propelled  you  and  the 
cramp  into  Dr.  Smith's  office  was  little  else  than 
the  comfortable  sound  of  Dr.  Smith's  name. 

For  those  persons  who  believe  that  names  mean 
absolutely  nothing,  let  us  make  another  experi- 
ment. Take,  for  example,  a  very  popular  ro- 
mantic play  like  the  "Romance"  of  Edward  Shel- 
don. The  principal  characters  in  this  play  are 
named,  respectively,  Thomas  Armstrong,  Cornelius 
Van  Tuyl  and  Margherita  Cavallini.  Keep  the 
manuscript  intact,  with  not  so  much  as  a  syllable 
altered,  but  change  the  Thomas  Armstrong  into 
Chplmondely  Tootle,  the  Cornelius  Van  Tuyl  into 
Ralph  Sprinz,  and  the  Margherita  Cavallini  into 
Filomena  Piu.     What  success  would  the  play  have 


ON  NOMENCLATURE  221 
in  the  way  of  sentimental,  romantic  appeal? 
Imagine  the  love  scenes! 

Why  do  theatre  audiences  laugh  at  a  cheese 
named  Gorgonzola  and  not  at  the  doubly  puis- 
sant cheese  named  Miinster?  For  the  same  reason 
that  they  laugh  at  a  reference  to  Weehawken  and 
not  at  one  to  a  neighbouring  New  Jersey  village 
like  Rutherford,  a  village  intrinsically  every  bit 
as  jocose  as  Weehawken.  Why  is  Kalamazoo 
funny  and  the  just  as  funny  Michigan  town  of 
Marshall  not  funny?  What  makes  people  snicker 
derisively  at  Oshkosh  and  on  the  other  hand  treat 
with  silent  respect  the  nearby  and  equally  comic 
Wisconsin  hamlet  of  Appleton?  Doubtless  the 
same  thing  that  caused  Amelia  Bingham  to  ap- 
preciate that  if  she  remained  Millie  Smilley,  as 
she  was  baptized,  no  one  would  ever  accept  her 
as  an  actress  capable  of  histrionic  heights  more 
elevated  than  hitting  a  comic  Irishman  in  the  eye 
with  a  New  York  Herald. 

It  is  as  ridiculous  to  believe  that  a  name  means 
nothing  to  a  man  or  woman  as  it  would  be  to  be- 
lieve that  a  name  means  nothing  to  a  dish  of 
food.  What  theatrical  producer  would  engage  for 
the  role  of  Romeo  an  actor,  however  talented,  who 
was  known  to  the  world  as  Julius  Katzenjammer? 
What  restaurant  patron  would  enjoy  the  dish  half 


222  COMEDIANS   ALL 

as  much  if  it  weren't  named  mountain  oysters? 
Imagine  giving  three  lusty  cheers  for  General 
Claude  Vivian  Pershing!  More  feats  for  the  imag- 
ination. Imagine  being  impressed  by  a  woman 
with  a  fireside  name  like  Carrie  Dudley  (alias 
Mrs.  Leslie  Carter)  in  the  role  of  Du  Barry. 
Think  of  being  impressed  by  Irish  impersona- 
tions on  the  part  of  a  girl  named  Blanche  Min- 
zesheimer  (alias  Belle  Blanche).  Imagine  hav- 
ing collected  cigarette  pictures  of  Pauline 
Schmidgall  (Pauline  Hall).  What  if  Jerome  K. 
Jerome  spelled  out  his  middle  name — Klapka? 
Why  has  Elsie  Janis  persistently  denied  with  a 
suspicious  indignation  that  she  was  bom  Bier- 
bauer?  How  many  bottles  of  Mary  Garden  Per- 
fume would  they  sell  if  they  had  named  it,  in- 
stead, Schumann-Heink?  What  if  the  Oriental 
Theda  Bara  had  stuck  to  her  real  Cincinnati,  Ohio, 
name  of  Miss  Goodman?  Who  would  have 
listened  to  Billy  Sunday  if  his  name  had  been  Max 
Blitz?  Jacob  Beer,  even  though  he  changed  his 
name  to  Giacomo  Meyerbeer,  remains  fodder  for 
the  vaudeville  comics.  What  girl,  however  hand- 
some the  man  and  however  opulent  he  was  in  the 
goods  of  the  world,  would  enthuse  over  marrying 
him  if  he  happened  to  enjoy  such  a  name  as  Eli- 
phalet  Gilgal,  or  Joel  Pecos,  or  Kosciusko  Saus? 


ON  NOMENCLATURE  223 
Rex  Beach  and  Jack  London,  signed  to  stories  of 
wild  Alaska,  are  names  more  or  less  convincing. 
But  say  there  were  a  woman  who  could  write 
stories  of  wild  Alaska  very  much  better  than  these 
twain — ^whose  name  happened  to  be  Gladys  Dar- 
ling or  Mae  Sunshine.  What  serious  considera- 
tion would  the  poor  girl  get?  Or  say  the  maga- 
zine writer  named  Bonnie  Ginger,  whose  work  ap- 
pears regularly  in  the  Street  and  Smith  publica- 
tions, had  chanced  to  write  Andreas  Latzko's 
"Men  in  War" — who  would  have  been  disturbed 
by  it?  What  if  the  actress  named  Trixie  Fri- 
ganza  had  been  in  Edith  Cavell's  place,  or  the 
motion-picture  girls  named  Arline  Pretty  and 
Louise  Lovely  in  the  places  of  the  Congressional 
Jeanette  Rankin  and  the  Suffragette  Pankhurst! 

The  theory  that  a  name  means  next  to  nothing, 
and  that  it  exercises  little  or  no  bearing  upon  the 
fortunes  of  its  owner,  is  a  theory  akin  to  that 
which  would  stoutly  maintain  that  a  girl  named 
Minnie  Ohio  would  be  as  likely  to  impress  Co- 
vent  Garden  as  Marguerite,  despite  her  equal 
talents,  as  the  one  named  Mignon  Nevada.  There 
are  exceptions,  of  course,  but  they  prove  little. 
For  one  Leo  Ditrichstein  who  has  succeeded  in  en- 
chanting the  matinee  girl  despite  the  influenza  of 
his  name,  there  have  been  several  dozens  who, 


224  COMEDIANS   ALL 

afraid  to  take  so  great  a  chance,  have  astutely 
turned  the  natal  Simon  into  Selwyn,  Lepper  into  Ab- 
ingdon, and  something  or  other  considerably  less 
harmonious  into  Courtenay.  And  for  one  Lud- 
wig  Rottenberg  who  has  succeeded  in  the  musical 
world  in  spite  of  the  patronymic  odour,  there  have 
been  a  score  or  more  who,  sensing  the  danger, 
have  changed  themselves  from  Nachtigall  into 
Luscinius.  What  chance  did  poor  Mr.  0.  U. 
Bean,  who  produced  "An  Aztec  Romance"  in 
the  Manhattan  Opera  House  six  or  seven  years 
ago,  stand?  Even  if  he  had  revealed  himself  a 
new  Gordon  Craig  or  Reinhardt?  What  serious 
attention,  in  turn,  would  Gordon  Craig  ever  have 
attracted  had  his  name  been  0.  U.  Bean?  Hash 
called  emince  tastes  twice  as  good.  A  firm  call- 
ing itself  the  Royal-Imperial  Corset  Company  will 
sell  its  wares  to  twice  as  many  women  as  it  would 
were  it  to  call  itself  by  the  names  of  its  proprietors, 
Bierheister  and  Pluto,  Inc.  And  finally,  what  if 
Rigo,  the  eye-rolling,  lady-killing  fiddler,  had  pos- 
sessed the  name  Herman  or  Gus? 

§  85 

Opera   Comique. — The   formula    of   opera   co- 
mique:     Act  I — "The  Boar's  Head  Tavern"  with 


OPERA   COMIQUE  225 

the  fat-legged  chorus  of  female  villagers,  the  King's 
Guard  as  stiff  as  ramrods,  the  hero  with  his  shirt 
open  at  the  neck,  the  daughter  of  the  poor  inn- 
keeper who  hugs  the  footlights,  closes  her  fists 
upon  her  bosom  and  blinks  her  way  through  a 
song  called  "Love  is  a  Rose,"  the  low  comedian 
with  the  funny  legs,  plug  hat,  red  nose  and  joke 
about  matrimony-alimony;  Act  II — "The  Court- 
yard of  the  Palace"  with  the  fat-legged  villagers 
now  appearing  as  red-and-green  gipsies,  the 
frowzy  old  stock  company  actress  with  a  velvet 
portiere  attached  to  her  bustle  (thus  depicting  a 
Queen),  the  Prince  incognito,  the  separation  of 
the  lovers  by  the  cruel  librettist,  and  the  low  come- 
dian with  the  funny  legs,  plug  hat,  red  nose  and 
joke  about  germs  coming  from  Germany;  Act  III 
— "The  Throne  Room  of  the  Palace,"  with  the 
fat-legged  first-act  villagers  and  second-act  gipsies 
now  wearing  long  white  sateen  skirts  and  walking 
across  the  stage  as  if  a  loved  one  had  just  died 
(thus  vouchsafing  the  yokels  a  regal  "coronation 
scene"),  the  reunion  of  the  lovers  through  the 
news  that  the  hero  has  been  pardoned,  and  the 
low  comedian  with  the  funny  legs,  plug  hat,  red 
nose  and  joke  about  Pittsburgh.  .  .  . 


226  COMEDIANS   ALL 

§  86 

Dramatic  Paradox. — Why  is  that  theatrical 
audiences  always  laugh  at  the  blunders  of  the  in- 
nocently ignorant  characters  in  drama  and  are 
moved  to  compassion  by  the  blunders  of  the  in- 
telligent? Is  this  not  directly  opposite  to  the 
practice  in  actual  life? 

§87 

The  French  and  American  Taste. — One  has  only 
to  compare  such  a  play  as  Harry  James  Smith's 
"The  Little  Teacher"  with  such  a  play  as  Alfred 
Capus'  "The  Little  Postmistress"  to  sense  (1)  the 
difference  between  the  tastes  of  an  American  and 
a  French  playwright,  and  (2)  the  difference  be- 
tween the  tastes  of  an  American  and  a  French 
theatre  audience.  I  doubt  whether  in  the  dramatic 
literatures  of  the  two  nations  there  are  two  plays, 
of  whatever  quality,  that  may  more  exactly  il- 
luminate the  respective  postures  of  these  nations  in 
their  playhouses.  Both  plays  proceed  from  the 
adventures  of  a  spotless  virgin  come  to  earn  a 
livelihood  in  a  small  village  and  each  play  in  its 
subsequent  progress  pronounces  clearly,  and  at 
every  turn,  the  stereotyped  characteristics  of  the 


TASTE  227 

audience  for  which  it  was  designed.  The  Capus 
play  is  a  brightly  written,  sophisticated,  good- 
natured  and  droll  comedy  of  live  and  living  per- 
sons. The  Smith  play  is  an  amalgam  of  all  the 
mildewed  hokums  of  the  Broadway  showshop  ex- 
pounded through  the  figures  of  all  the  mildewed 
puppets  of  the  one-night-stand  opera  houses. 
This  Smith  work  is,  indeed,  a  veritable  tour  de 
force  in  the  so-called  sure-fire  devices  that  are 
ever  successful  in  the  diteggiatura  of  the  keyboard 
of  the  native  playgoing  yokel's  emotions  and  the 
pawing  out  of  his  moods  dolorosa,  infervorato, 
vivace  con  furioso  and  /.  quanto  possibile,  a  tour 
de  force  in  the  yap-traps  and  old  reliables  of  stage 
commerce  that  has  not  been  matched  for  sheer 
virtuosity  since  George  M.  Cohan's  "Hit-the-Trail 
HoUiday." 

The  story  of  the  play  is  the  autobiography  of 
the  brazen  popularity  stratagems  of  the  American 
folk  stage.  The  picture  of  George  Washington 
decorated  with  American  flags;  the  picture  of 
Woodrow  Wilson  beside  it;  drawings  of  the  Star 
Spangled  Banner  upon  the  blackboard  by  the 
school  children  with  coloured  chalks;  the  creeping 
down  the  stairs  of  a  small  tot  in  its  little  white 
nightie;  the  sprig  of  Spring  blossoms  which  the 
heroine   gives  to  the  hero   and  which  the  hero 


228  COMEDIANS   ALL 

tenderly  presses  in  a  book  for  sweet  memory's 
sake;  the  drunken  father  who  beats  his  children 
until  the  "purple  welts"  show  on  their  backs;  the 
twain  of  sour  old  maiden  ladies  who  seek  to  stir 
up  the  community  against  the  little  school  teacher 
because  they  believe  her  relations  with  the  hero 
are  not  so  innocent  as  they  seem;  the  uncouth  but 
whole-hearted  lumber-jack  to  whom  the  little 
school  teacher  teaches  the  A  B  C's  and  with  whom 
she  falls  in  love;  the  head  of  the  village  school 
board  whose  bandanna  protrudes  from  the  tails 
of  his  coat;  the  heroine's  wistful  playing  of  the 
organ  in  the  candle-light  with  the  children  in  their 
nighties  cuddling  beside  her — the  organ  that 
hasn't  been  played,  it's  nigh  on  thirty  years  now, 
sence  the  baby  died  .  .  .  they  are  all  here.  And 
with  them,  the  village  beau  in  the  loud  red  vest 
who  wets  his  fingers  and  creases  his  trousers;  the 
hero  who  fells  with  a  blow  the  knave  who  casts  an 
aspersion  upon  the  little  school  teacher's  fair  name; 
the  kettle  of  boiling  water  with  the  real  steam  com- 
ing out  of  it;  the  joke  about  Jersey  City;  the  dis- 
covery that  the  ill-used  children  were  kidnapped 
from  their  cradles  and  are  in  reality  the  heirs  of  a 
rich  New  York  family;  the  comic  old  rube  who 
goes  on  talking  forgetting  that  he  has  a  lighted 
match  in  his  hand  and  bums  his  fingers;  the  hero 


TEMPERATURE  229 

who  says  "damn"  and  then,  when  the  heroine 
raises  her  eyebrows,  elaborately  begs  her  pardon; 
the  pale  little  girl  child  who  observes  pathetically 
that  she  "never  had  no  muwer" ;  the  longing  to  be 
back  again  in  "wonderful  little  old  New  York"; 
the  final  vision  of  the  hero  in  khaki  .  .  .  and  you 
have,  in  small  part,  an  idea  of  the  night's  in- 
dubious traffic. 

When  one  sees  "The  Little  Teacher,"  one  sees 
synchronously  the  history  of  our  American  pop- 
ular stage.  It  is  a  vaudeville  of  American 
audiences  since  1870  and,  as  such,  the  best  unin- 
tentional theatrical  satire  I  have  ever  seen. 

§  88 

Temperature  and  the  Drama. — Of  the  numerous 
delusions  that  enwrap  the  theatre,  not  the  least 
amusing  is  the  hypothesis  that  the  summer  season 
is  suited  vastly  better  to  music  shows  than  to 
drama  because  the  former,  in  warm  uncomfortable 
weather,  place  considerably  less  strain  upon  the 
attention  of  the  spectator  than  the  latter.  The 
truth,  of  course,  despite  its  regrettable  air  of 
flippancy,  is  quite  the  opposite.  A  music  show 
like  "The  Follies,"  say,  with  its  seventy  or  eighty 
comely  girls,  with  its  every  fifteen  minute  change 


230  COMEDIANS   ALL 

of  multicoloured  costume  and  brilliant  scenery, 
and  with  its  quickly  shifting  panorama  of  dance, 
tune  and  spectacle,  invites  the  attention  with  a  ten- 
fold more  close  alertness  than  a  drama  like  St. 
John  Ervine's  "John  Ferguson,"  for  instance,  with 
its  seven  or  eight  characters,  its  very  slow  action, 
its  leisurely  development  of  thesis. 

The  managerial  assumption  that  the  music 
show  provides  the  better  form  of  hot  weather  en- 
tertainment because  it  calls  for  a  lesser  sense- 
organic  agility  on  the  part  of  the  spectator  than 
does  the  dramatic  show  vouchsafes  us  a  not  in- 
accurate measure  of  the  peculiarly  bogus 
managerial  metaphysic.  Placing  the  cart  before 
the  horse  with  his  accustomed  perspicacity,  the 
manager  argues  from  the  success  of  the  music  show 
in  hot  weather — and  from  the  reciprocal  failure 
of  drama  in  the  same  weather — that  the  music 
show  is  successful  because  it  appeals  to  the 
spectator's  indolent  hot  weather  mood,  when  the 
fact  is  that  the  music  show  appeals  to  the  spectator 
in  hot  weather — as  the  drama  does  not — purely 
and  simply  because  in  hot  weather  the  average 
man  is  of  twice  as  active  a  disposition  and  of  twice 
as  alert  a  nature  as  in  cold  weather,  and  because 
the  music  show  thus  satisfies  his  doubly  acute 
senses.     In  the  summer  months  the  average  man 


TEMPERATURE  231 

who  in  the  winter  months  hugs  the  radiator  and 
the  easy  chair  is  fond  of  exerting  himself.  The 
activity  he  abjures  in  the  cold  season  he  adopts 
with  a  furious  suddenness  and  enthusiasm  in  the 
warm  season.  Though  he  may  be  anything  but 
athletic,  the  warm  weather  sees  him  golfing,  walk- 
ing, swimming,  bathing  in  the  surf,  playing  tennis, 
gardening,  climbing  hills  and  mountains,  hurrying 
to  and  from  railroad  stations,  fishing,  commuting 
twice  a  day,  working  like  a  dog  cooking  his  own 
meals  and  washing  dishes  in  some  sort  of  "camp," 
going  on  long  bucolic  hikes,  spending  weeks  stalk- 
ing the  mythical  bear  in  the  Maine  woods,  rowing 
his  arms  lame  at  Lake  Mahopac,  falling  out  of 
canoes  into  the  Hudson  River  or  pitching  hay  for 
diversion  in  Westchester  County.  The  very  men- 
tion of  such  exotic  didoes  would  make  him  grunt 
a  sour  grunt  during  the  winter;  but,  come  summer 
with  its  wilting  heat,  and  he  becomes  abruptly  and 
surprisingly  as  active  as  a  cootie.  It  is  this 
grotesque  and  wayward  hot  weather  zeal  that 
brings  him  to  the  desire  for  a  more  lively  form  of 
theatrical  entertainment  than  slow-paced  drama. 
When  the  warm  weather  comes,  his  peculiarly 
restless  nature  wants  action,  change,  something  to 
rivet  the  attention,  to  provoke  the  emotions  and 
the  senses,  to  hold  the  eye.     And  the  music  show 


232  COMEDIANS   ALL 

serves  this  end.  He  strains  his  too  long  inert 
body  by  day  and,  suddenly  avid  of  life,  he  wishes 
to  balance  the  strain  by  a  hard  pull  at  his  other 
faculties  by  night.  And  if  he  is  not  of  the  sort 
that  relishes  the  physical  strain  of  sport,  he 
naturally  relishes  doubly,  and  wants  doubly,  the 
equivalent  and  compensatory  emotional  strain  pro- 
vided by  the  theatre.  Drama  would  rest  him  and 
cause  him  to  relax,  and  he  doesn't  want  rest  or 
relaxation.  He  wants  to  have  a  smashing  colour, 
a  dazzling  parade,  a  ceaseless  movement,  litho- 
graphed upon  the  combined  bichromated  gelatin 
and  albumen  of  his  nervous  and  vigilant  brain. 
He  wants,  not  an  inert,  passive  and  too  easily  as- 
similated depiction  of  the  tragic  psychoneurologi- 
cal phenomena  underlying  filial  and  maternal  love 
as  set  forth  in  some  such  drama  as  Hervieu's 
"Passing  of  the  Torch,"  but  the  active,  absorbing 
and  every-moment  intriguing  and  riveting  kaleido- 
scope of  bewildering  motion. 

The  problem  is  a  simple  one  in  practical  psy- 
chology, familiar  to  every  Harvard  sophomore. 
It  is  fully  explained  by  Wundt,  Kiilpe  and  James 
in  their  respective  writings  on  the  nature  and  forms 
of  attention,  and  by  Ribot  ("Psychologic  de  1' At- 
tention"), A.  J.  Hamlin  in  the  American  Journal 
of    Psychology,    Floumoy    ("L'Annee    Psycholo- 


THE   MARIONETTE  233 

gique"),  and  the  very  sagacious  Exner.  .  .  .  This, 
therefore,  the  reason  why  "The  Follies"  is  in- 
evitably twenty  times  as  prosperous  a  hot  weather 
show  as  would  be  the  best  drama  Pinero  ever  wrote. 

§  89 

The  Marionette. — For  the  dramatist,  the  marion- 
ette surpasses  the  living  actor  in  the  same  way 
that,  for  the  composer,  the  violin  surpasses  the  liv- 
ing singer.  For  all  the  wood  out  of  which  the 
marionette,  like  the  violin,  is  fashioned,  that  wood 
contains  in  each  instance  the  potential  voice  of  the 
thousand  and  one  inspirations  of  the  creative 
artist.  Unlike  flesh  and  blood  and  the  whims  and 
idiosyncrasies  and  contumacies  that  go  more  or 
less  inevitably  with  flesh  and  blood,  it  serves  the 
creative  artist  with  all  the  obedience  and  docility 
of  his  pen,  with  all  the  expository  force  of  the 
lead  that  is  in  cold  type.  The  critic  of  the  marion- 
ette is  the  critic  who  believes  that  the  human  voice 
of  Schumann-Heink  is  capable  of  bringing  as  great 
a  glory  to  the  "Heidenroslein"  of  Schubert  as  the 
wooden  voice  of  Antonio  Stradivari,  or  that  the 
visible  nose,  Adam's  apple  and  Chianti-bottle 
figure  of  Mr.  Robert  B.  Mantell  constitute  a 
grander  and  more  beautiful  funnel  for  the  majestic 


234  COMEDIANS   ALL 

verse  of  Shakespeare  than  the  shrewdly  negotiated 
combination  of  a  trained  and  mellifluous  larynx 
in  the  wings  and  a  visible  wooden  figure  finely 
carved  by  the  painstaking  hand  of  an  artist  of 
Bologna. 

The  "Scheherazade"  of  the  Russian  ballet,  the 
richest  flower  of  pantomime  and  in  its  silence  as 
vibrantly  dramatic  as  the  most  strepitantly  voiced 
drama,  is  in  essence  drama  expounded  by  marion- 
ettes. The  "Voice  in  the  Wilderness,"  the  off'-stage 
voice  of  God,  in  the  dramatic  presentation  of  the 
Biblical  "Book  of  Job,"  contributes  at  once  the 
most  eff'ective  and  dramatic  note  of  the  play.  Is, 
then,  the  theory  of  the  marionette  drama — in- 
trinsically a  combination  of  these  twain — so 
absurd  as  some  contend?  .  .  .  What  living, 
speaking  actor  could  be  half  so  eff'ective,  half  so 
revelatory,  half  so  eloquent  as  Pinero's  little 
marionette  that  gayly  dances  down  the  curtain  to 
the  second  act  of  "A  Wife  Without  a  Smile"? 
What  living,  speaking  actress  could  conjure  up  for 
the  imagination  the  vision  of  a  Jenny  Mere  as  that 
vision  might  be  conjured  up  by  a  delicate  waxen 
doll  responding  to  the  golden,  always-sixteen  off'- 
stage  voice  of  a  shrivelled  Bernhardt  of  sixty? 

If  there  are  certain  plays  that,  in  good  truth, 
cannot  perhaps  be  so  electrically  played  by  ma- 


THE   MARIONETTE  235 

rionettes  as  by  living  actors — ^plays  of  sex  emo- 
tionalism, for  instance — there  are  no  less  certain 
plays  that  cannot  be  so  electrically  played  by  liv- 
ing actors  as  by  marionettes.  The  so-called  drama 
of  ideas,  for  example,  is  essentially  and  properly 
a  marionette  drama:  the  living  actor  not  only 
contributes  nothing  to  it;  he  actually  by  his  pres- 
ence detracts  from  it.  Lucien  Guitry  as  Pasteur 
in  the  play  of  that  name  is  less  Pasteur  than  the 
familiar  Lucien  Guitry  playing  Chantecler  in  a 
Prince  Albert.  It  thus  becomes  necessary  for  the 
proper  effect  of  the  play  that  the  spectator,  in 
Coleridge's  phrase,  strain  to  support  the  illusion 
not  by  judging  Guitry  to  be  Pasteur,  but  by  re- 
mitting the  judgment  that  Guitry  is  not  Pasteur. 
This  "temporary  half-faith  supported  by  the 
spectator's  voluntary  contribution,"  this  mental 
ruse  and  imaginative  tug — this  a  marionette  in  the 
role  of  Pasteur  would  not  call  for,  since  (1)  the 
role  of  Pasteur  as  written  by  the  younger  Guitry 
is  primarily  a  mere  spigot  for  the  projection  of 
scientific  ideas  and  contentions,  since  (2)  a  living 
interpreter  of  the  role,  however  able,  by  virtue  of 
his  familiar  and  largely  inalienable  aspect  and 
comportment  serves  as  a  somewhat  grotesque  sieve, 
and  since  (3),  therefore,  the  marionette,  being 
obviously  a  marionette,  would  rid  the  spectator  of 


236  COMEDIANS   ALL 

the  devastating  sieve  consciousness  and,  interpos- 
ing no  alien  physiological  element  and  call  for 
temporary  half-faith,  would  bring  the  spectator 
without  ado  into  direct  contact  with  the  aforesaid 
scientific  ideas  and  contentions.  The  difference, 
somewhat  less  gaseously  expressed,  is  the  differ- 
ence between  watching  August  Fraemcke  excite  the 
F  minor  concerto  of  Chopin  on  a  Steinway  and 
listening  to  the  ghost  of  Paderewski  perform  the 
same  composition  on  a  Welte-Mignon. 

Well,  well,  I  probably  exaggerate.  Nor  do  I 
pretend  that  I  am  myself  yet  convinced.  But, 
perusing  the  anti-marionette  logic  of  the  mummer 
worshippers,  my  doubts  and  hesitations  are  some- 
what moderated.  If  there  is  much  to  be  said  on 
the  one  side,  there  is  much  also  to  be  said  on  the 
other. 

§  90 

The  National  Humour. — Were  I  asked  by  a 
foreigner  to  point  out  the  most  searchingly  exact 
and  typical — if  true  enough  not  always  the  best — 
specimens  of  the  American  national  humour,  I 
should  direct  the  inquisitor  to  the  legend  postcards 
on  sale  for  a  penny  apiece  in  comer  cigar  stores 
throughout  the  country.  Nowhere  else,  I  con- 
clude after  considerable  deliberation,  is  the  unique 


THE   NATIONAL   HUMOUR     237 

and  characteristic  humour  of  the  United  States  so 
clearly  presented,  so  clearly  illustrated,  so  clearly 
summarized.  Search  the  libraries  of  America 
from  end  to  end  and  one  will  be  at  pains  to  find 
a  shrewder  and  better  anthology  than  is  revealed 
upon  these  mailing-cards,  I  quote  a  few  more  or 
less  familiar  examples,  selected  at  random: 

1.  "What!     You  never  kissed  any  girl  before?     Then 
you  beat  it!     You  are  not  gonna  practise  on  me." 

2.  "After  talking  with  some  people,  without  mentioning 
any  names,  I  wonder  at  the  high  price  of  ivory." 

3.  "Don't  criticize  the  butter — yer  may  be  old  yerself 
some  day." 

4.  "I'm  somewhat  of  a  liar  myself — ^but  go  on  with 
your  story;  I'm  listening." 

5.  "I'm  so  unlucky  that  if  it  was  raining  soup  I'd  be 
right  there  with  a  fork." 

6.  "Some  men  will  do  more  for  a  cheap  cigar  than  they 
will  for  a  dollar." 

7.  "Don't  spit.     Remember  the  Johnstown  Flood!" 

8.  "A  tea-kettle  sings  when  it's  full  of  water.     But  who 
the  hell  wants  to  be  a  tea-kettle?" 

9.  "Life  is  one  damn  thing  after  another.     Love  is  two 
damn  things  after  each  other." 

10.  "I've  met  both  your  gentlemen  friends,  and  I  don't 
know  which  one  I  like  the  worst." 

11.  "Kiss  me  quick,  kid;  I'm  going  to  eat  onions." 

12.  "If  you  have  nothing  to  do,  don't  do  it  here." 

13.  "Come  in  without  knocking.     Go  out  the  same  way." 


238  COMEDIANS   ALL 

14.  "If  you  spit  on  the  floor  at  home,  spit  on  the  floor 
here.     We  want  you  to  feel  at  home." 

15.  *Take  things  easy.     You  can  always  go  to  jail." 

16.  "Don't  swear  while  here.     Not  that  we  care  a  damn, 
but  it  sounds  like  hell  to  strangers." 

17.  "If  every  man  was  as  true  to  his  country  as  he  is  to 
his  wife,  God  save  the  U.  S.  A." 

18.  "You  can't  fool  nature.     That's  why  so  many  pro- 
hibitionists  have  red   noses." 

19.  "The  peacock  is  a  beautiful  bird,  but  it  takes  the 
stork  to  deliver  the  goods." 

20.  "Don't  say  mean  things  to  your  mother-in-law.  .  .  . 
Kick  her  in  the  slats." 

21.  "What!     You  here  again?     Another  half -hour  gone 
to  hell!" 

22.  "Half  the  world  is  nutty — the  rest  are  squirrels." 

23.  "I  ain't  got  nothing  to  live  for ;  nobody  loves  me  but 
the  dog,  and  he's  got  fleas." 

24.  "A  baby  doesn't  know  much,  but  father  can't  wear 
mother's  nightgown  and  fool  it  when  it's  hungry." 

25.  "Calves  may  come  and  cows  may  go,  but  the  bull 
goes  on  forever." 

26.  "I  love  my  patent  leather,  but  oh  you  undressed  kid." 

27.  "I  may  be  no  chicken,  but  I'm  game." 

28.  "Any  fool  can  go  to  bed,  but  getting  up  takes  a 
man!" 

29.  "Our  eyes  have  met,  our  lips  not  yet,  but  oh  you  kid, 
I'll  get  you  yet.'* 

30.  "An  Irishman  dies  everytime  they're  short  an  angel 
in  Heaven." 


THE   NATIONAL   HUMOUR    239 

Not  a  tony,  an  elegant,  humour  perhaps — ^but 
nevertheless  a  humour  sharply  typical  of  the 
present  day  American  people:  as  typical  in  its  way 
as  is  the  humour  of  Le  Rire,  Maillol  and  Rip  of 
the  French,  the  humour  of  Seymour  Hicks,  Tit- 
Bits  and  the  New  Cross  Empire  of  the  British, 
or  the  humour  of  Busch,  the  side-street  Tingel- 
Tangel  and  Georg  Okonkowski  of  the  German. 
The  national  humour  of  America,  like  that  of  any 
other  nation  save  Spain  and  possibly  France,  is 
in  the  main  its  lowest  and  most  vulgar  humour. 
Thus,  the  satirical  humour  of  George  Ade — ^the  fin- 
est American  humour  of  our  time — is  no  more 
accurately  the  weather-cock  of  the  American  na- 
tional chuckle  than  the  high  satirical  humour  of 
Anatole  France  is  the  divining-rod  of  the  French, 
or  the  striking  satirical  humour  of  Ludwig  Thoma 
that  of  the  German,  or  the  smart  satirical  humour 
of  Max  Beerbohm  that  of  the  British.  The  na- 
tional humour  is  obviously  enough  the  humour 
not  of  the  few,  but  of  the  mass — the  plurality 
humour.  And  thus  the  humour  most  typical  of 
the  American  people  is  the  humour  of  the  beer 
saloon,  the  scenic  railway  pleasure  park,  the 
country  fair,  the  day  coach  smoking  car,  the 
street-comer,  the  chowder  club  picnic,  the  political 


240  COMEDIANS   ALL 

rally,  the  baseball  bleachers.  The  humour  of  any 
nation  is  the  humour  of  its  leading  bartender. 
The  humour  of  England  is  assuredly  typified  vastly 
less  by  the  reply  of  a  W.  S.  Gilbert  to  the  ques- 
tion of  what  he  thought  of  Dickens — "He  was,  if 
you  understand  me,  a  gentish  person" — than  by 
some  such  punning  allusion  of  Arthur  Wimperis 
as  General  Haig  and  Haig  or  Admiral  Jellycake. 
The  humour  of  Germany  is  not  of  the  stuff  of 
Bismarck's  reply  when  they  asked  him  how  he 
would  settle  the  Irish  problem — "I  would  have  the 
Irish  and  the  Dutch  exchange  countries:  the  Dutch 
would  make  a  garden  of  Ireland,  and  in  a  year  or 
so  the  Irish  would  begin  neglecting  the  dikes" — 
but  of  the  stuff  of  some  such  music-hall  "Jupplala" 
lyric  whence  was  derived  the  American  "My  wife's 
gone  to  the  country,  hooray,  hooray!"  And  the 
national  humour  of  France,  though  probably  of  a 
suaver  quality  than  that  of  the  other  nations  here 
considered,  since  France,  after  all,  is  metropolitan 
Paris  and  metropolitan  Paris  France,  is  measur- 
ably less  the  gorgeous  humour  of  "The  Revolt  of 
the  Angels"  than  that  of  the  well-known  comic 
boulevard  picture  with  the  appended  inscription, 
"Is  this  Monsieur  Calchot  that  I  have  the  pleasure 
of  addressing?" 

In  England  and  on  the  Continent,  the  character- 


THE  NATIONAL  HUMOUR  241 
istic  humour  of  a  nation  is  the  humour  of  its  music- 
halls.  The  humour  of  the  Alhambra,  the  Victoria 
Palace  and  the  Camberwell  Empire  is  as  certain 
a  thermometer  of  the  British  humour  as  that  of  the 
Folies-Bergere,  the  Olympia,  the  Bobino  and  the 
Gaite-Montpamesse  is  a  thermometer  of  the 
French,  and  that  of  the  Wintergarten,  the  Fleder- 
maus  cabaret  platform  and  the  Nollendorfplatz- 
Theater  of  the  German.  But  the  representative 
humour  of  the  American  people  is,  I  believe,  the 
humour  of  the  cheap  vaudevilles  and  the  bur- 
lesque show.  It  is  this  humour  that  the  post-cards 
which  I  have  described  reflect:  for  in  the  cheap 
vaudevilles  and  the  burlesque  shows  one  finds,  in- 
deed, this  humour's  provenience.  The  humour  of 
the  burlesque  show  is  a  humour  original  with  the 
burlesque  show:  it  is  an  even  more  original  humour 
than  that  of  the  cheap  vaudevilles  which  is  often 
a  mere  slight  polishing  up  of  the  burlesque  humour 
or  a  mere  roughening  and  toughening  up  of  the 
already  thrice  distilled  Broadway  musical  comedy 
humour.  And  this  burlesque  humour  therefore 
doubtless  places  a  more  accurate  finger  upon  the 
national  pulse.  The  loudest  and  most  popular 
laughter  in  the  American  theatres  of  today  is  pro- 
voked by  humour  that  has  been  graduated  from 
burlesque.     The  leading  comedians  of  a  dozen  or 


242  COMEDIANS   ALL 

more  shows  of  uniformly  high  prosperity  through- 
out the  country  have  come  to  the  more  august  stage 
from  burlesque,  and  have  brought  their  wheezes 
with  them.  The  exceptionally  popular  humour  of 
Irvin  Cobb  is  substantially  the  humour  of  the  bur- 
lesque show,  somewhat  refined  for  the  purposes 
of  general  distribution  in  a  periodical  that  rolls 
a  canny  eye  at  the  papa  and  his  housewife.  The 
most  popular  mot  negotiated  by  President  Wilson 
on  his  speech  route  of  1918,  the  joke  about  mak- 
ing the  world  safe  for  the  democratic  party, 
originated  with  the  comedian  in  Charlie  Baker's 
"Gay  Morning  Glories"  show.  Helen  Green's  ad- 
mirable actors'  boarding  house  and  telephone 
girls'  humour — some  of  the  very  best  native 
humour  an  American  has  set  upon  paper — was  in 
essence  the  purest  burlesque  show  humour. 

The  satiric  humour  of  George  Ade,  though,  as 
observed,  probably  the  best  American  humour 
since  the  time  of  Twain,  is  generically  less  an 
American  than  a  British  humour.  On  the  surface 
it  is  as  American  as  a  catcher's  mit;  its  general 
form  and  style  are  as  thoroughly  American  as 
Stein-Bloch  clothes;  but  in  its  amazingly  sharp 
satire  it  is  British.  Ade's  training  and  upbringing, 
contrary  to  the  general  notion,  were — I  under- 
stand from  a  source  that  seems  thoroughly  reliable 


THE   NATIONAL   HUMOUR     243 

— less  along  banks  of  the  Wabash  lines  than  along 
banks  of  the  Thames  lines.  (His  father,  so  I  hear, 
was  of  English  stock  and  stubbornly  read  no  other 
newspaper  than  the  London  Telegraph,  for  which 
he  regularly  subscribed.)  The  fine  English  sa- 
tiric note  in  the  son's  writings  may  thus  be  ex- 
plained. Whatever  the  facts,  the  one  fact  remains 
that  the  humour  of  George  Ade  is  intrinsically  no 
more  a  symptom  of  the  national  humour  than  the 
vastly  less  fine  but  partly  satiric  writing  of  Charles 
Hoyt  was,  in  his  day,  intrinsically  a  symptom  of 
the  national  humour.  The  present-day  American 
mass  humour  is  not  the  sly  humour  of  Ade,  but 
the  somewhat  less  recherche  humour  of  Billy  Wat- 
son ("baggy  comedian's  clothes,  toothpick  in  his 
mouth,  red  nose,  cuffs  tied  with  ribbons,  hatchet 
in  his  hip  pocket,"  so  Arthur  Ruhl  describes  him 
in  that  droll  and  excellent  essay) — of  Billy  Wat- 
son and  his  venerable  and  deathless  "Kraus- 
meyer's  Alley."  Just  as  the  twenty-year-ago  sly 
American  humour  of  Hoyt  was  less  the  national 
humour  of  its  day  than  the  somewhat  less  recherche 
humour  of  this  selfsame  Watson  and  this  selfsame 
"Krausmeyer's  Alley."  (A  nation's  humour  is  in 
general  as  unchanging  as  a  nation's  flag — a  few 
more  stars,  or  a  few  more  asterisks,  perhaps,  but 
Watson's  current  immensely  popular  addendum  to 


244  COMEDIANS   ALL 

"Krausmeyer's  AUey,"  "A  Gay  Old  Boy,"  is  noth- 
ing other  than  Harry  Montague's  famous  "My 
Uncle"  of  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago,  the  lucrative 
and  nationally  applauded  standby  of  Waldron's 
old  Trocadero  Burlesquers.) 

The  American  national  humour  is  not  the  de- 
risory humour  of  the  Twains  and  the  Ades,  but 
the  burlesque  humour  of  the  Petroleum  V.  Nasbys 
and  the  Irvin  Cobbs.  The  humour  of  Ring 
Lardner  comes  nearer  the  national  pulse  than  the 
humour  of  Montague  Glass,  say,  yet  both  these 
humours  are  intrinsically  of  too  fine  and  subtle  a 
left-handed  quality,  too  sharp  and  incisive  a  power 
of  characterization — especially  the  humour  of  the 
latter — to  bring  them  into  a  plurality  of  popular- 
ity. The  national  humour  is  the  low,  broad,  easy, 
vulgar  humour  that  appeals  alike  to  the  Elk  and 
the  member  of  the  Union  Club,  the  motorman  and 
the  owner  of  a  Rolls-Royce,  the  congressman  and 
the  chiropodist,  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  superintendent 
and  the  brothel  keeper,  the  artist  and  the  shoe 
clerk:  the  humour  that  tickles  alike  the  ribs  of 
ignoramus  and  intellectual,  of  rich  and  poor,  of 
rowdy  and  genteel,  of  black,  white  and  tan.  And 
where  other  than  in  burlesque  do  we  find  this 
humour  in  America?  Whether  spoken  humour 
or  physical  humour,  this  burlesque  humour — reg- 


THE  NATIONAL  HUMOUR  245 
ularly  graduated  to  the  more  legitimate  popular 
stage,  to  the  popular  magazines,  to  the  popular 
songs  and  books  and  moving  pictures,  and  so  given 
a  thorough  national  circulation — is  more  often 
than  any  other  form  of  American  humour  success- 
ful in  amusing  the  generality  of  the  American 
people.  Thus,  for  one  American  who  will  laugh 
at  some  such  delicate  mockery  of  Clyde  Fitch's  as 
"Men  are  always  hard  on  another  man  whom 
women  like,"  ten  thousand  will  laugh  at  some  such 
burlesque  show  fancy  as  Krausmeyer's  injunction 
to  Grogan  to  take  his  feet  off  the  table  "and  give 
the  Limburger  a  chance."  And  for  every  Ameri- 
can, rich  or  poor,  black  or  white,  Christian  or 
Quartermaster,  who  will  be  found  to  laugh  at  some 
such  literary  drollery  as  Christopher  Morley's  ac- 
count of  the  lecturer  on  Tennyson  who  by  error 
got  into  a  home  for  female  inebriates,  there  will  be 
found  thirty  thousand  who  will  laugh  at  some  such 
burlesque  drollery  as  Al  Reeves'  account  of  his  ad- 
ventures in  urging  the  Salvation  Army  saver  of 
fallen  women  to  save  him  two  blondes  and  a 
brunette  for  Saturday  night. 

The  true  fundamental  national  humour  of 
America — as  of  any  other  nation — rests,  of 
course,  in  its  dirty  story.  The  loose  and  ribald 
anecdote    of    the    Irishman    and    the    minister's 


246  COMEDIANS   ALL 

daughter,  of  what  was  seen  through  the  opera- 
glass  from  the  veranda  of  the  Hebrew  golf  club, 
of  the  widow  and  the  college  boy,  of  the  girl 
who  went  to  the  masked  ball  as  a  certain  playing 
card,  and  the  like,  constitute  the  N  toward  which 
the  national  popular  humour  compass  needle  con- 
stantly and  unswervingly  directs  itself.  And  it  is 
because  the  burlesque  show  humour  more  closely 
and  brazenly  than  any  other  public  form  of 
American  humour  approaches  to  this  shall  we  say 
deplorable  index,  that  it  vouchsafes  the  most  ac- 
curate public  picture  of  the  American  national 
humour.  This  burlesque  humour,  further,  is  of 
typical  American  accent  and  expression,  as  the 
burlesque  show  itself  is  a  typical  American 
product:  one  will  not  find  the  like  of  it  anywhere 
in  the  world.  And  this  is  why  the  alien  in- 
vestigator, would  he  know  the  best  available 
criterion  of  the  American  scherzo,  would  rightly 
and  most  appropriately  be  directed  to  a  study  of 
that  form  of  American  public  entertainment  whose 
humour  most  intimately  and  unabashedly  dances 
the  bump-polka  with  what  is  the  actual  national 
humour. 

The  humour  of  the  burlesque  show — the 
genuine,  full-blown  and  unaffected  burlesque  show 
of  Fourteenth  Street,  not  the  hybrid  thing  mani- 


THE  NATIONAL  HUMOUR  247 
cured  by  the  so-called  burlesque  wheel  for  the  up- 
town Columbia  Theatre  of  Broadway — this  humour 
is  as  representatively  and  intrinsically  American, 
in  all  the  line  bloom  of  its  vulgarity,  as  the  humour 
of  the  comic  valentine,  the  pie  cinema  or  the  bush 
league  bleachers.  Its  essence  is  the  essence  of  the 
nationally  most  popular  comic  cartoons  as,  for 
example,  the  "Boobs,"  "Simps,"  "Foolish  Ques- 
tions," "No  Brains"  and  "Mike  and  Ike"  of  Gold- 
berg, the  Hallroom  Boys  of  McGill,  the  Mutt  and 
Jeff  of  Bud  Fisher,  the  "Bringing  Up  Father"  of 
George  McManus,  the  "Abie  the  Agent"  of  Hersh- 
field — and  the  Yellow  Kid  of  Outcault,  and  Foxy 
Grandpa,  and  the  Katzenjammer  Kids,  and  the 
various  celebrated  comic  strips  of  the  yesterdays. 
For  one  American  who  laughs  at  the  pungent, 
satiric  drawings  of  Webster  or  Hill  or  McCutcheon, 
there  are  ten  thousand  who  laugh  at  the  low  bur- 
lesque stage  sketches  of  Tad,  of  Opper,  and  of  T. 
E.  Powers. 

Puck  was  successful  only  so  long  as  it  stuck  to 
the  barber-shop  level:  the  day  it  attempted  a  more 
elevated  form  of  wit  the  office  boy  began  figuring 
how  much  the  editor's  spittoon  would  go  for  at 
the  auction  sale.  Life  sticks  sagaciously  to 
mother-in-law  and  Little  Willie  jokes  and  so  keeps 
alive.     Judge  sticks  to  yokel  limericks  about  the 


248  COMEDIANS   ALL 

man  who  lived  in  Siam  and  pictures  of  dogs  with 
cans  tied  to  their  tails  and  thus  keeps  its  head 
above  water.  The  United  States  has  not  one 
humorous  periodical  of  one-half  the  quality  of  the 
British  Punchy  or  one-tenth  the  quality  of  the 
French  Vie  Parisienne,  the  Russian  Loukomorye 
and  JSovi  Satirikon  and  Boudilnik,  or  the  German 
Simplicissimus.  The  American  comic  paper  re- 
flects the  highest  popular  level  of  the  American 
taste  in  humour  as  exactly  as  such  a  periodical  as 
the  Saturday  Evening  Post,  with  its  two  millions  of 
circulation  and  its  five  millions  of  readers,  reflects 
the  highest  popular  level  of  the  American  taste  in 
philosophy  and  aesthetics. 

As,  theatrically,  "Krausmeyer's  Alley"  may  be 
accepted  as  a  typical  example  of  the  American 
humour,  so  many  "La  Cocotte  Bleue,"  the  Cluny 
Theatre  riot,  be  accepted  as  an  emblem  of  the 
French  humour,  and  "A  Little  Bit  of  Fluff,"  the 
dismal  American  failure,  as  an  emblem  of  the 
British,  and  an  eternally  popular  Laufs  and  Kraatz 
collaboration  as  an  emblem  of  the  German.  The 
American  humour,  more  than  the  British,  or 
French,  or  even  German,  is  a  slapstick  and  seltzer 
siphon  humour.  It  is  the  humour  of  "Dere 
Mable,"  of  "Speaking  of  Operations,"  of  K.  C.  B., 
of  comedians  speaking  into  telephones  and  receiv- 


THE  NATIONAL  HUMOUR  249 
ing  faces  full  of  flour,  of  William  F.  Kirk,  and 
of  Barney  Gerard  kicking  Rose  Sydell  in  the  seat 
of  her  tights.  It  is  the  humour  of  the  Silk  Hat 
Harry  cartoons,  of  such  songs  as  "How're  We 
Gonna  Keep  the  Boys  on  the  Farm  After  They 
Been  to  Gay  Paree?",  of  postcards  bearing  the 
inscription  "Say,  bo,  get  me!  You're  bughouse," 
of  Louis  Robie  and  the  bass  drum  and  ratchet  and 
suggestively  torn  strip  of  muslin.  It  is,  in  brief, 
less  the  humour  of  the  ironic  Harry  Leon  Wilson, 
or  of  the  observant  Kin  Hubbard,  or  of  the  J.  L. 
Morgan  of  the  shrewd  club  lampoons,  or  of  the 
F.  P.  Adams  of  parody  classic  verse,  or  of  the 
quaintly  philosophical  E.  W.  Howe,  or  of  the  muse- 
ful  Clare  Briggs  than  the  humour  of  the  Yonkers 
Statesman,  "Bugs"  Baer,  Dinkelspiel,  the  Charlie 
Chaplin  inserts,  Joe  Oppenheimer's  "Broadway 
Belles,"  Roy  L.  McCardell,  Ezra  Kendall,  Bert 
Leslie,  and  the  one  about  the  cigar  drummer  and 
the  blonde. 

§  91 

The  Crook  Play. — The  modem  Broadway  crook 
play,  commonly  held  to  be  as  typical  and 
characteristic  an  American  product  as  a  Muhlen- 
berg College  bachelor  of  arts  or  the  Mann 
Act,    is   actually   no   more   indigenously    Ameri- 


250  COMEDIANS   ALL 

can  than  Napravnik's  "DubrofFsky."  The  mod- 
em Broadway  crook  play  is  a  lineal  descendant 
of  the  Germano-Austro-Hungarian  crook  play: 
its  blood  relationship  is  more  or  less  visible 
in  its  every  feature.  The  American  Carters 
and  Marcins  with  their  "Master  Minds"  and 
"Cheating  Cheaters"  were  in  each  instance  antici- 
pated by  the  Austro-Hungarian  Sawa  Zez-Mirskis 
with  their  "Super-Scoundrels"  {Der  Obergauner) 
and  "Cheated  Cheaters"  {Betrogene  Betriiger),  as 
the  American  Armstrongs  and  McHughs  with  their 
card-sharper  "Greyhounds"  and  burlesque  "Of- 
ficers 666"  were  in  each  instance  anticipated  by 
the  Central  European  Karl  Schiilers  with  their 
"Card  Sharpers"  (Falschspieler)  and  Turzinsky- 
Stifters  with  their  burlesque  "Don't  Write  Letters" 
{Mann  Soil  Keine  Brief e  Schreiben) .  The  Broad- 
way crook  melodrama  composer  like  Willard  Mack 
has  always  had  a  crook  melodrama  papa  overseas 
like  Kurt  Matull;  the  Broadway  crook  farce  com- 
poser like  James  Montgomery  a  crook  farce  papa 
like  Ferenz  Molnar.  The  Americans  have  in  none 
of  these  cases  been  plagiarists — this  is  not  the 
point — but  the  species  of  crook  plays  which  they 
have  written  were  in  each  case  already  familiar  to 
and  popular  with  the  Central  European  audience. 
Not  only  in  America  but  in  Europe  is  the  crook 


THEATRICAL  WISE  MEN  251 
play,  when  it  is  done  with  a  reasonable  show  of 
skill,  among  the  most  prosperous  and  lucrative  of 
the  numerous  theatrical  jay  baits.  The  theory  of 
the  local  college  critics  that  the  high  popularity  of 
the  crook  drama  in  America  is  a  melancholy  mark 
of  the  inferior  American  theatrical  taste  is  a  theory 
that  suffers  a  swift  bump  when  the  Continental 
(and  particularly  the  French)  statistics  are 
plumbed. 

§  92 

The  Theatrical  Wise  Men. — Probably  no  other 
institution  on  earth  is  burdened  with  so  many  posi- 
tive theories  and  rules  of  conduct  as  the  theatre. 
And  in  probably  no  other  institution,  save  it  be  a 
physical  culture  diet  restaurant,  are  the  positive 
theories  and  rules  of  conduct  so  profitably  to  be 
violated.  The  moment  an  oracular  theory  or  law 
is  laid  down  in  the  theiatre,  that  moment  does  it 
become  certain  that  by  breaking  it  someone  is  due 
shortly  to  make  at  least  a  quarter  of  a  million  dol- 
lars. 

A.  H.  Woods,  probably  the  shrewdest  com- 
mercial manager  in  the  American  theatre,  rejected 
a  ridiculously  cheap  advance  offer  of  a  sixty  per 
cent  interest  in  the  melodrama  named  "The  Un- 
known Purple"  on  the  contention  that  the  play  con- 


252  COMEDIANS   ALL 

tained  a  situation  in  which  a  wife  failed  to  recog- 
nize her  husband  after  an  absence  of  eight  or  ten 
years,  which  situation,  Mr.  Woods  informed  the 
author  of  the  play,  would  never  conceivably  be 
accepted  as  credible  by  a  theatre  audience.  "The 
Unknown  Purple,"  with  the  situation,  thereupon 
proceeded  to  run  for  an  entire  theatrical  year  in 
New  York  City  alone. 

When  Arthur  Hopkins  announced  that  he  was 
about  to  produce  "The  Jest,"  this  same  canny  Mr. 
Woods  voiced  his  conviction  that  so  sombre  a 
tragedy  could  not  conceivably  draw  more  than  a 
very  limited  "highbrow"  audience,  as  he  termed  it, 
and  could  not  consequently  play  to  "big  money." 
The  sombre  "Jest"  thereupon  promptly  turned  out 
to  be  the  greatest  financial  dramatic  success  in 
many  years,  playing  to  the  astonishingly  high  box- 
office  sale  of  over  nineteen  thousand  dollars  a  week. 

George  M.  Cohan,  who  probably  knows  more 
about  popular  playmaking  than  all  the  rest  of  the 
popular  American  playwrights  combined,  has  said 
in  answer  to  an  interviewer's  query:  "If  you  want 
to  sell  anything  to  Americans,  sell  them  what  they 
want.  That  goes  for  pants  or  plays.  And  give 
them  what  they  want  quick!  Shoot  it  over  fast! 
Tell  your  story  so  sharply  that  it  will  keep  your 
audience  awake  all  the  time  following  you!     Get 


THEATRICAL  WISE  MEN  253 
a  plot  and  get  it  going  at  once!  Don't  give  the 
audience  time  to  think!"  Mr.  Cohan  rejected  the 
manuscript  of  "Peg  o'  My  Heart"  on  the  ground 
that  it  moved  too  deliberately,  that  its  story  was 
not  shot  over  with  sufficient  punch  and  speed,  that 
its  plot  maneuvering  was  so  slow  that  an  audience 
would  have  too  much  time  to  think  about  it  and 
that,  therefore,  it  would  fail  to  hold  an  American 
audience.  "Peg  o'  My  Heart"  thereupon  began 
a  record-breaking  run  that  is  still  going  on  in  the 
remote  tank  towns  and  that  has  netted  its  author 
and  manager  a  great  fortune. 

Augustus  Thomas,  the  leading  American  apostle 
and  professor  of  absolutism  in  dramatic  technique 
— in  the  theory  that  in  order  to  succeed  a  drama 
must  be  written  according  to  hard  and  fast,  tested 
and  inviolable,  formulae — laboriously  confected 
"The  Copperhead"  according  to  the  said  formula; 
and  then  found,  upon  the  third  night  of  its  suc- 
cessful New  York  presentation,  that  it  was  neces- 
sary to  the  perpetuation  of  the  play's  success  to  turn 
the  chief  principle  of  his  main  formula  topsy-turvy. 
Thus  the  first  night  enigma  of  Milt  Shanks'  loyalty 
to  the  Federal  government  was  on  the  third  night 
imparted  to  the  audience  in  a  hoarse  down-stage 
whisper  by  the  rewritten  Milt  himself. 

Daniel  Arthur  hesitated  to  produce  Clare  Kum- 


254  COMEDIANS   ALL 

mer's  "Good  Gracious  Annabelle"  as  a  music  show 
libretto  because  it  was,  he  maintained,  too  absurd 
a  fable  too  artificially  handled.  Hopkins  there- 
upon obtained  the  rights  to  the  libretto  from  Arthur, 
impudently  produced  the  libretto  as  a  straight 
farce  comedy  without  any  music  at  all,  and  got 
away  with  it. 

These  are  five  cases  out  of  an  available  five 
hundred. 

§  93 

William  Winter. — Re-reading  the  bulky  opera 
of  the  late  William  Winter,  I  am  impressed  more 
than  ever  with  the  utter  incompetence  of  the  man  as 
a  critic  of  the  drama.  A  writer  of  many  a  felici- 
tous phrase  and  fruity  turn  of  sentence,  he  was  yet 
of  the  mind  of  a  schoolboy,  of  the  point  of  view  of 
a  girl  disappointed  in  love.  Of  his  grotesque 
morality  and  puritanism  in  matters  of  art,  I  do  not 
speak:  these  are  of  course  familiar.  What  I  speak 
of  was  the  man's  almost  complete  lack  of  under- 
standing of  the  fundamental  requirements  of  crit- 
icism. He  was  a  critic  of  acting  and  drama  in 
precisely  the  same  sense  that  the  late  William  S. 
Devery  was  a  critic  of  sociology.  His  attitude  was 
generally  the  attitude  of  a  Simon  Legree  without 


WILLIAM   WINTER  255 

slaves.  Perpetually  vexed,  irritated,  infuriated, 
he  would  wildly  brandish  his  cowhide  about  him, 
would  have  at  imaginary  ghosts  that  were  con- 
stantly terrorizing  him  and,  finding  the  ghosts 
made  of  thin  air,  would  suffer  upon  his  own  ear 
the  boomerang  sting  of  the  whip.  Dancing  then 
and  howling  over  the  self-inflicted  fetch,  he  would 
seek  to  get  even  with  the  whip  by  loudly  calling  it 
a  rattlesnake.  And  it  was  this  imprecation  that 
was  duly  set  upon  paper  and  called  criticism. 

If  I  seem  to  be  indelicate  in  writing  thus  of  a 
dead  man,  I  have  no  shuffling  apologies  to  make. 
The  fact  that  Winter  is  dead  doesn't  increase  my 
respect  for  him  in  the  slightest.  And  though  I 
hope  that  the  good  Lord  God  may  rest  the  soul  of 
him  in  eternal  peace,  I  can't  resist  the  conviction — 
come  upon  me  since  carefully  re-reading  his  works 
— ^that  the  mark  of  the  man  as  a  critic  of  the 
theatre  was  best  to  be  appraised  in  his  acceptance 
of  public  benefit  alms,  in  the  dour  midnight  of  his 
life,  from  the  very  actors  whom  he  had  labelled 
dramatic  maquereaux  and  the  very  actresses  whom 
his  pale  blue  New  England  mind  had  denounced 
as  no  better  than  harlots.  It  is  to  the  credit  of 
Mrs.  Minnie  Maddem  Fiske  that  she  alone — of  all 
who  Were  sought  to  play  the  hypocrite  to  such  a 


256  COMEDIANS   ALL 

man  in  his  doddering,  financially  wrecked  days — 
remained  a  sufficiently  acute  critic  of  critics  to  show 
the  committee  the  door. 

§  94 

Sex  Appeal. — The  disappointingly  small  meas- 
ure of  popular  success  achieved  by  the  woman  who 
is  agreed  to  be  the  best  actress  on  the  native  stage, 
a  regular  topic  for  speculation  where  critics  of 
the  theatre  are  gathered  together,  is  not  so  diffi- 
cult of  explanation  as  it  would  seem  to  be.  The 
woman  in  question,  an  unusually  able  player  and 
one  further  endowed  with  a  musical  speaking  voice 
and  more  than  the  average  share  of  comeliness,  is 
yet  utterly  devoid  of  the  sex  appeal  essential  to 
success  on  the  popular  dramatic  stage.  This  ob- 
servation would,  in  faith,  be  trite  enough  were  it 
not  for  the  fact  that  the  deficiency  (doubtless  thor- 
oughly recognized  by  the  excellent  actress  herself) 
has  never  to  my  knowledge  been  attributed  to  her 
even  by  her  least  friendly  critics.  And  yet,  pin 
down  her  admirers  and  disfavourers  one  by  one, 
riddle  their  elaborately  profound  professorisms, 
and  one  finds  that  in  the  subconscious  nook  of  each 
there  hides,  politely  veiled  in  academic  flim-flam, 
this  simple  icicle  truth. 


SEX   APPEAL  257 

The  actress  who  thus,  albeit  indirectly,  impresses 
an  audience,  though  she  be  the  greatest  actress  in 
her  nation,  will  ever  remain  a  popular  failure. 
The  yokel  sees  never  the  role  interpreted  by  the 
actress,  but  the  actress  interpreted  by  the  woman. 
It  is  nonsense  to  say,  as  they  do  say,  that  this  or  that 
stage  young  woman  is  New  York's  or  Cleveland's 
or  Kansas  City's  favourite  actress.  It  is  more  ac- 
curate to  say  that  the  young  woman,  whoever  she 
happens  to  be,  is  New  York's  or  Cleveland's  or 
Kansas  City's  favourite  stage  young  woman. 
When  the  Senior  Class  at  Yale  or  Harvard  thinks  it 
is  voting  for  its  favourite  actress,  it  is  actually  vo- 
ting for  the  girl  it  would  individually  like  best  to 
take  out  to  supper.  Allen  and  Ginter  did  not  sell 
cigarettes  by  putting  in  their  packets  pictures  of  ac- 
tresses as  actresses — imagine  the  yokels  collecting 
photographs  of  Mrs.  Sarah  Cowell  Lemoyne  as  the 
Dowager  Duchess  de  Coutras! — ^but  by  putting  in 
pictures  of  actresses  as  women  with  good  shapes 
and  as  girls  with  naughty  dimples  and  soulful  eyes. 
To  believe  that  the  yokel  cuts  out  half-tones  of  an 
actress  and  pastes  them  on  the  wall  over  his  bed 
because  he  venerates  the  actress  for  her  histrionic 
virtuosity  is  to  believe  that  the  editor  scholastically 
puts  them  in  his  magazine  for  the  same  reason. 


258  COMEDIANS   ALL 

§  95 

The  Pigeon-Hole  Play. — The  most  ignorant  criti- 
cism visited  upon  a  play  in  my  memory  was  that 
accorded  Zoe  Akins'  "Papa"  on  its  New  York  pre- 
sentation. Confounded  by  something  not  duly 
listed  in  the  pigeon-holes,  the  gentlemen  of  the 
press  promptly  concluded  that  the  author  had 
failed  in  her  attempt  to  write  a  kind  of  play  that 
was  listed  in  the  pigeon-holes  when,  of  course,  what 
the  author  had  tried  plainly  to  do  was  to  write  a 
kind  of  play  that  was  not  listed  in  the  pigeon-holes. 
Whether  she  failed  to  do  this  in  sound  fashion,  or 
whether  she  succeeded,  is  beside  the  point.  The 
point  is  that  she  was  criticized  not  for  what  she 
tried  to  do — whether,  as  I  say,  the  accomplishment 
was  good  or  bad — but  for  what  she  deliberately 
tried  not  to  do.  To  take  to  the  criticism  of  a  play 
like  "Papa"  a  "Turn  to  the  Right"  mind  and  a 
"Three  Faces  East"  technical  appraisal  is  to  shop 
at  a  florist's  for  beefsteak.  It  is  much  as  if  one 
were  indignantly  to  criticize  Culmbacher  for  its 
lack  of  palliative  massage  properties  or  a  horse 
liniment  for  its  taste. 

§  96 

The  Actor  and  the  Trained  Seal. — I  trust  that  I 
am  not  unduly  pessimistic,  yet  it  seems  to  me  that 


THE  ACTOR  AND  SEAL  259 
each  year  the  quality  of  acting  in  the  American 
theatre  grows  progressively  worse.  Save  in  the  in- 
stance of  a  half-dozen  or  so  men  and  a  half-dozen 
or  so  women,  the  bulk  of  acting  becomes  each  sea- 
son more  slovenly,  more  uncouth,  more  absurdly 
incompetent.  That  the  actors  themselves  are 
wholly  to  blame  for  this,  I  doubt.  The  average 
actor,  true  enough,  brings  to  his  profession  not 
one-half  the  equipment  that  a  fairly  good  barber 
brings  to  his;  and  the  average  actress  is  ready  to 
call  it  quits  when  she  has  learned  how  to  pronounce 
three  or  four  French  words  and  to  sit  down  with- 
out automatically  throwing  her  right  leg  over  her 
left.  But  despite  this  it  seems  to  me  that,  though 
the  job  were  akin  to  driving  nails  into  cobblestones, 
these  droll  curios  might  yet  be  polished  up  a  bit 
and  improved  if  there  existed  producers  who  knew 
how  to  do  the  polishing  and  the  improving.  That 
the  average  actor  is  willing  to  be  helped,  I  haven't 
the  slightest  doubt.  But  that  the  average  producer 
knows  how  to  help  him,  I  doubt  seriously. 

The  producer  makes  the  mistake  of  believing  his 
job  done  when  he  hires  the  actor.  His  job,  in  re- 
ality, has  then  just  begun.  When  the  producer  be- 
comes indignant  over  the  incompetence  of  the  actor 
he  has  hired,  he  becomes  foolish.  He  has  not  hired 
competence,  though  he  is  ever  fond  of  deluding 


260  COMEDIANS   ALL 

himself  with  the  tradition  and  hope  that  he  has; 
he  has  hired  merely  a  large  hunk  of  more  or  less 
sensitive  and  impressionable  wax.  To  expect  this 
clod  to  perform  its  work  of  its  own  accord  is  to 
expect  a  phonograph  to  play  without  a  needle,  a 
record  and  considerable  winding.  If  the  acting  on 
the  American  stage  grows  worse  year  by  year,  it  is 
because  the  producers  have  taken  more  and  more 
for  granted  the  theory  that  the  average  actor  knows 
something  about  his  work.  The  average  actor 
knows  no  more  about  his  work  than  the  average 
reader  on  the  staff  of  a  magazine  knows  about  his 
work.  He  knows  that  he  mustn't  stop  to  blow  his 
nose  in  the  middle  of  a  hot  love  scene,  that  he  must 
refrain  from  spitting  on  Aubrey  Tanqueray's  rug 
and  that  he  must  look  up  the  pronunciation  of  the 
word  "coniomycetus" — ^just  as  the  magazine  reader 
knows  that  he  mustn't  bother  the  editor  with  stories 
about  the  beautiful,  seductive,  mysterious  Fifi 
Pommard,  alias  Sophie  Bohnensalat,  the  Ger- 
man spy — ^but,  like  the  reader,  he  knows  very 
little  else.  Of  imagination,  initiative,  critical  an- 
alysis, artistic  derring-do,  neither  vouchsafes  a 
trace. 

If  an  actor  gives  a  bad  performance  the  fault  is 
the  producing  director's,  just  as  if  a  trained  seal 
gives  a  bad  performance  the  fault  is  the  trainer's. 


THE   ACTOR   AND    SEAL     261 

The  director  who,  upon  finding  an  actor,  perfunc- 
torily takes  for  granted  the  actor's  ability  to  do  the 
right  thing  at  the  right  moment  is  akin  to  the  trainer 
who,  upon  finding  a  seal,  perfunctorily  takes  for 
granted  the  seal's  ability  to  intertwine  the  French 
and  American  flags  at  the  right  moment.  The  actor 
is  not  an  independent  body  and  mind,  a  creature 
of  invention  and  resolve:  he  is  a  mere  mechanical 
instrument.  He  is  the  keyboard  upon  which  the 
producer  plays  the  playwright's  tunes.  He  is  to 
creative  art  what  the  nickelodeon  is  to  De  Pach- 
mann.  The  producer  who  confidently  regards  him 
otherwise  is  like  the  street  urchin  who  fondly  hopes 
to  start  the  slot  piano  going  merely  by  shaking  it. 

§  97 

The  Middle-Class  Taste. — It  is  a  common  dud- 
geon of  the  American  professor-critics  of  the  drama 
that  the  low  grade  of  American  theatrical  enter- 
tainment is  due  to  the  low  taste  of  the  American 
middle-class  theatrical  audience.  Elevate  the 
taste  of  this  middle-class,  rid  the  auditorium  of  the 
artistic  and  aesthetic  predilections  of  our  stock- 
brokers, haberdashers,  clothing  salesmen,  moving- 
picture  actors  and  other  such  mental  and  social  oc- 
toroons,  and — they  say — you  will  coincidentally 


262  COMEDIANS   ALL 

and  simultaneously  elevate  the  quality  of  American 
drama. 

Let  us  suppose  that  this  middle-class  and  its 
plebeian  taste  were  completely  and  summarily  re- 
moved from  the  American  theatre  and  its  erstwhile 
loges  occupied  by,  let  us  say,  the  aristocrats  of 
Europe  and  the  aristocratic  taste  of  Europe — in 
direct  example,  let  us  further  say,  the  aristocratic 
taste  of  Great  Britain.  What  would  be  the  result? 
Surveying  the  statistics  of  royalty's  attendance 
upon  the  London  theatre  during  the  last  twelve 
years,  we  find  that  what  this  aristocratic  and  culti- 
vated taste  chiefly  patronized  and  relished  was  as 
follows: 

Feb.  12,  1907 — His  Majesty  the  King,  accom- 
panied by  the  Queen,  visited  the  Apollo  and  saw 
"The  Stronger  Sex,"  a  third-rate  popular  comedy 
by  John  Valentine. 

Feb.  19,  1907 — The  Royal  couple  went  to  Wynd- 
ham's  and  saw  "When  Knights  Were  Bold,"  a 
fourth-rate  flash-back  romantic  play  the  success  of 
which  was  due  to  the  low  comedy,  slapstick  antick- 
ing  of  the  actor  James  Welch  in  the  role  of  Sir 
Guy  de  Vere. 

June  26,  1907 — They  visited  the  Adelphi  to  see 
the  ancient  rube  ruffler,  "The  Corsican  Brothers." 

July  18,  1907 — They  went  to  the  Vaudeville  to 


MIDDLE-CLASS   TASTE      263 

see  the  adapted  French  farce,  "Mrs.  Ponderbury's 
Past." 

The  King,  while  in  Paris  the  same  year  without 
the  Queen,  attended  "Vous  n'Avez  Rien  a  De- 
clarer" and  "La  Puce  a  I'Oreille,"  two  particularly 
hot  ones,  both  at  the  Nouveautes,  and  Bernstein's 
"The  Thief."  While  the  King  was  away,  the 
Queen  took  in  Hall  Caine's  "The  Bondman," 
"Raffles,"  "Miss  Hook  of  Holland,"  the  variety 
show  at  the  Palace,  "The  Great  Conspiracy,"  "The 
Belle  of  Mayfair" — and  went  a  second  time  to  see 
both  "The  Stronger  Sex"  and  James  Welch's  mon- 
keyshines. 

The  Prince  and  Princess  of  Wales  during  this 
season  took  in  "The  Stronger  Sex"  and  "Sinbad  the 
Sailor,"  a  Drury  Lane  extravaganza. 

In  1908,  I  find  that  the  aristocratic  taste  went  in 
for  "A  White  Man"  (called  "The  Squaw  Man"  in 
this  country) ;  "Diana  of  Dobson's,"  the  Cicely 
Hamilton  shopgirl  romance;  the  naughty  farce 
"Dear  Old  Charlie";  the  patriotic  military  flag- 
wagger  hight  "The  Flag  Lieutenant";  "Marriages 
of  Mayfair,"  a  Cecil  Raleigh-Henry  Hamilton 
Drury  Lane  melodrama;  "Lady  Barbarity,"  an 
R.  C.  Carton  masterpiece;  "Her  Father"  (twice),  a 
prototype  of  the  Broadway  play  called  "The  Rain- 
bow"; "The  Gay  Gordons,"  "The  Belle  of  Brit- 


264  COMEDIANS   ALL 

tany,"  "The  King  of  Cadonia,"  "Havana"  and 
similar  song  and  dance  shows;  the  venerable 
"Lyons  Mail";  "The  Sway  Boat,"  by  W.  T.  Coleby, 
and  "The  Early  Worm,"  a  laborious  farce  by 
Frederick  Lonsdale.  The  command  performances 
in  this  year  were  "The  Flag  Lieutenant,"  "The 
Corsican  Brothers,"  "The  Duke's  Motto"  and  Al- 
fred Sutro's  "Builder  of  Bridges." 

The  following  year  saw  the  King  twice  taking  in 
the  Drury  Lane  melodrama  called  "The  Whip." 
The  King  also  went  to  see  "An  Englishman's 
Home,"  a  yellow  journal  melopiece;  "Arsene 
Lupin,"  a  detective  play;  "The  Woman  in  the 
Case,"  a  Clyde  Fitch  melodrama  attributed  to 
Theodore  Kremer;  a  third-rate  farce  named  "Mr. 
Preedy  and  the  Countess,"  subsequently  done  at 
the  Maxine  Elliott  Theatre  in  this  country;  a  couple 
of  obscure  "society  plays"  by  obscure  writers;  and 
a  couple  of  leg  shows  in  which  the  pretty  Phyllis 
Dare  was  appearing.  The  taste  of  the  Kins;  was 
concurred  in  by  the  Prince  and  Princess  of  Wales 
and,  save  in  the  case  of  a  vaudeville  show  at  the 
Alhambra,  by  the  Queen.  "The  Lyons  Mail"  was 
one  of  the  command  performances. 

In  1910,  the  King  elected  Isabel  Jav  and  "The 
Balkan  Princess,"  Lily  Elsie  and  "The  Dollar  Prin- 
cess," Gertie  Millar  and  "Our  Miss  Gibbs,"  to- 


MIDDLE-CLASS   TASTE       265 

gether  with  "Alias  Jimmy  Valentine,"  "Dr.  Jekyll 
and  Mr.  Hyde,"  "The  House  of  Temperley," 
"Tantalizing  Tommy"  and  a  Chauncey  Olcott  opus 
called  "The  O'Flynn."  The  next  four  years  found 
Royalty  attending  in  the  main  Bulwer  Lytton's 
"Money"  (a  command  j>erformance  in  honour  of 
the  visit  of  the  German  Emperor  and  the  German 
Empress!),  the  Robert  Hichens  Valeska  Suratt 
conte  "Bella  Donna,"  the  Horace  Annesley  Vachell 
potboiler  "Jelf's,"  the  coloured  moving  pictures  at 
the  Scala,  Charles  Klein's  "Third  Degree"  at  the 
Garrick,  James  Montgomery's  Broadway  crook 
farce  "Ready  Money,"  the  suggestive  French  farce 
"The  Glad  Eye"  (here  called  "The  Zebra"  in  the 
Paul  Potter  adaptation),  Cicely  Courtneidge  in  the 
"Princess  Caprice"  music  show,  the  song  and  dance 
shows  called  "The  Girl  in  the  Taxi"  and  "The 
Dancing  Mistress,"  the  movie  "Quo  Vadis,"  a  va- 
riety show,  a  revival  of  "The  Silver  King,"  the 
Drury  Lane  extravaganza  "Sleeping  Beauty,"  the 
Third  Avenue  plumber's  delight  "Mr.  Wu,"  the  girl 
shows  called  "The  Cinema  Star"  and  "The  Mar- 
riage Market,"  a  vaudeville  bill  at  the  Palace,  and 
"Grumpy"  at  the  New  Theatre. 

The  war  year  of  1915  saw  Queen  Alexandra, 
Princess  Victoria  and  Princess  Maude  of  Fife  for- 
getting their  troubles  at  a  musical  comedy  named 


266  COMEDIANS   ALL 

"Betty"  and  the  Queen  and  Princess  Mary  taking 
in  "Potash  and  Perbnutter"  and  the  vaudeville 
show  at  the  Coliseum — the  King  remaining  away 
from  the  theatre  save  on  the  occasion  of  war  benefit 
performances.  In  the  subsequent  war  year  of 
1916,  the  Prince  of  Wales,  accompanied  by  Prince 
Albert,  went  to  the  Palace  to  lay  an  eye  to  the 
cuties  in  "The  Passing  Show";  the  Queen,  accom- 
panied by  the  Grand  Duchess  George  of  Russia, 
took  in  "Puss  in  Boots"  at  Drury  Lane;  the  same 
ladies,  joined  by  the  Princess  Victoria,  the  follow- 
ing week  (Jan.  18)  went  to  a  vaudeville  show; 
the  same  ladies — the  King  still  remaining  away 
from  the  theatre — on  May  29  took  in  "Peg  o'  My 
Heart";  and  the  Queen,  on  July  10,  sat  alone 
through  a  something  called  "The  Bing  Boys  Are 
Here."  And  the  seasons  of  1917-1919  saw  the 
movie  called  "Intolerance,"  Al  Woods'  "Friendly 
Enemies,"  a  couple  of  vaudeville  shows,  Edward 
Sheldon's  "Romance"  and  a  revival  of  Sydney 
Grundy's  "Pair  of  Spectacles"  the  especial  marks 
of  the  aristocratic  favour. 

During  these  dozen  years,  while  the  aristocratic 
eye  was  popping  at  the  hack  comedies  of  Carton, 
the  blood  and  thunder  melodramas  of  Drury  Lane, 
the  red-vest  vaudeville  acts  at  the  Alhambra  and 
the  shapely  legs  of  the  Adelphi  chorus  girls,  there 


MIDDLE-CLASS  TASTE  267 
were  being  presented  just  around  the  comer — and 
passed  up — the  great  plays  of  the  great  dramatic 
writers  of  all  time,  ancient  and  modem.  In  1907, 
with  Hauptmann's  "Sunken  Bell"  at  the  Waldorf, 
His  Majesty  went  instead  to  Somerset  Maugham's 
"Lady  Frederick"  at  the  Court.  In  1908,  with 
D'Annunzio's  "La  Figlia  di  Jorio"  at  the  Shaftes- 
bury, Her  Majesty  elected  instead  a  musical  com- 
edy by  Adrian  Ross  and  Leslie  Stuart  in  which 
Laurence  Grossmith  was  springing  comical  -jokes. 
In  1909,  with  Galderon  at  the  Aldwych  and  Oliver 
Goldsmith  at  the  Haymarket,  the  Prince  and  Prin- 
cess of  Wales  voted  for  Gladys  Cooper's  rendition 
of  a  Blanche  Ring  song  in  a  Gaiety  show  and  for 
a  vaudeville  bill  at  the  Empire.  In  1910,  with 
Shakespeare  at  the  Court  and  Shaw  at  the  Duke  of 
York's,  the  royal  family  made  instead  for  a  Paul 
Armstrong  melodrama  at  the  Comedy  and  a  look  at 
Emmy  Whelen  at  Daly's.  With  Synge,  Schnitzler, 
Galsworthy,  Hervieu  playing  down  the  block,  Buck- 
ingham Palace  has  ever  generally  selected  instead 
a  bedroom  farce,  a  crook  melodrama  or  a  leg 
show. 

Let  us  therefore  under  the  circumstances  invite 
our  American  professors  to  make  dramatic  criti- 
cism somewhat  safer  for  democracy. 

THE   END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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